Goodbye my buddy, goodbye...

 It's with a heavy heart that I sit down to add a final post celebrating my late best friend's life and passing. Sitting in my study, in a house that's quiet, with silent shrouds of snow on the ground and buildings of the neighborhood outside, I miss him. 

Now it's just me. No handsome huge white dog underfoot or begging for treats or whining for a walk, just me. And yes, we have hundreds, possibly thousands of photos of the boy, but I only wish to post one of them here. 

Last night I fell asleep on my back with my feet spread wide, savoring the memory of him flopping down, immediately asleep, hugged by my legs. I awoke in the morning in the same position; but, of course, there was no Watson.

Lee Ann and I traveled to Denver for the holidays, returning home on New Years Eve Eve, me in agony with my first bout with gout, Watson somehow not himself. His buddy AJ spent the weekend with us last weekend, while our friends Matt and Anitra did their annual Chattanooga city trip, celebrating their anniversary, and Watson sank into what I can only describe as a deep depression. 

His appetite was okay but waned after AJ had left us, and he was continuing what Taylor, another friend who housesat whilst we were in Denver, had described as "drinking lots of water". Friday we took him to the vet, who kept him overnight for IV fluids and diagnosis. We picked him up around noon on Saturday with a good deal of medication and instructions for dealing with rampant diabetes and a super high sugar level. On Tuesday, after MLK Day, we took him back. He had not eaten since Sunday morning, and even then only a cup or so of diabetic formula canned food. 

After that? Nothing. He was interested in nothing, receptive but not actively so to petting, drinking water and peeing in the yard, but mostly laying and sleeping. The vet was not optimystic, and we understood that any remediation she might try would only at best prolong the inevitable. He was on track to starve to death. 

We sat with him, on the floor in a corner of the small examination room, until he was gone. 

I'm tired of crying. I'm crying now. I imagine that will taper off with time, but it's still with me a couple days after losing him. No one can do more than will time. I'm breathing through it, more or less successfully, painting, doing my lower back and shoulder prescribed physical therapies, painting, playing some music, working a large jigsaw puzzle, cleaning the house, and listening to my remarkably escapist Outlander book IV, Drums of Autumn. I also recently downloaded Steam for my PC and a series of Steam-driven Tomb Raider games. I'm tired. I'm sad. But I'm okay. I'm okay, or will be. Here's the picture:

Bye, buddy.