Saturday, June 17, 2006
Christmas Eve 1993 my mom and I drove to southern NJ on Christmas Eve to get my brother C. the tiniest 4 week old pug pup. He was 12 at the time. He named him Bob.
Bob died in his sleep in my mom's backyard yesterday... I know it was really hard for C. because he's trying to get through the rigorous 10 hour days of Fire School and the EMT training -- this was the last thing he needed.
I don't think he realizes how lucky he is though --that Bob just went by himself. Driving a dog to the vet that last time is one of the hardest things to do. They perk up and wag their tail, so happy you are taking them somewhere --and the guilt of knowing that you, their best friend, are taking them to die is more than any person should have to deal with.
Bob was 13 years old. I know it's corny, but I am content in thinking he has joined my pug somewhere in the ever-after. They were best buds after all...