My dog was put down yesterday. He was old and developing problems. There was nothing to be done for him. My family decided it would be best for him to let him go. I'd give almost anything to have been there. It kills me to know he's gone. The last time I saw him, pet him was early on July 18th. It sucks. I miss him. I can't imagine coming home and having him not be there. That will probably be even harder than what I've gone through the past couple of days in terms of dealing with this loss. These have been the worst few days of my life. All I can say is that I am so grateful for the network of friends and family I have in both countries. They're there for me, even if they're an ocean away or across the language barrier. They care about me and want me to feel better. I couldn't ask for more at this point. I just need support. I know I'll get over this, thanks to these amazing people.
So, thank you to those who have been there for me and continue to be there for me. I don't know what I'd do without you.
Here's to the memory of Kingsford, King, Ferd, Ferdy, Bird, Bear, Bearford, Grampa Bear, Lumpy, and all the other insane names I called him (and he responded to). He was the best at catching pizza crusts, hogging balls and failing to jump ditches. He was a good Grampa Bear, always the protector, though he never truly had a masculine bark. He was always a good one for warming couches and beds (even on my dad's side of my parents' bed, the side he never should have been on). He was a chicken when it came to the vacuum cleaner or the dead cyote skin, but he always held his own when it came down to it. Toward the end, he might have started slowing down, but you could never get a tennis ball past him. He even knew there was a stash in the desk drawer. He found the ones I had in my suitcase to give my hostdogs.
You might think your dog's pretty great, but there's a reason mine was named King.
I'll miss him.
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