My in-laws have an dog named Aasha.
She’s sweet and borky, but she doesn’t like other dogs, violently so. We always kennel Tundra when we go to see them.
She’s old and tired.
She has some form of pituitary cancer, but they can’t do anything about it. She drinks and drinks and drinks but then can’t make it outside to piddle, so they have to restrict her water.
She eats dead animals and horks them in the kitchen. Her starring sculpture featured an entire deer kidney on the top of the pile. It was both impressive and putrid.
She begs for food. She gets to lick plates and bowls and pots and pans and will wait fussily until she gets them.
She can’t get up anymore, and my mother-in-law has a harness that lets her pull Aasha to her feet and guide her around.
She probably won’t make the winter, and this has been hard on my husband and his family. It’s inevitable, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.
There was some talk of what to do. My in-laws decided against cremation, but they’d still have to bury her when she passes. In the middle of winter by all likely-hood.
So, they dug a grave in the yard for her. It’s kind of morbid, but there’s no way to break ground in January, and they don’t want to disrespect her. They took turns at this, and Aasha came to investigate.
And tripped on the dirt pile they were building and fell. She did NOT end up sliding into the grave, thankfully, but that was quick reflexes from my in-laws.
Aasha, we love you.
Please don’t hurry to your grave. You’re a sweet old gal.