On friday Rich had Winston put to sleep. I've only seen him in his later years so I never knew him as a vibrant energetic puppy, but even at 15 he still had a love for life, even if it was so severly hampered by the afflictions of age. And while I know that he's better off this way, I still am saddened.
In the great tradition of death, it has made me think about mortality. Not inherently my own, but more that of the creature that I love more than I really would have given myself credit for a year and a half ago. And while Ishy is still but a puppy, I know that unless something stupid happens on some mountain climbing expedition, or some drunk driver swerves into my lane, I'm likely going to end up in a similar position in a dozen years.
Nope. I can't write anymore. I couldn't earlier this weekend, and I tried now, but I just can't get anything else out. I'm gonna go find his rope, and have a tug of war, and not think about this anymore.