The day I’ve been dreading arrived yesterday. Daisy was euthanased early in the morning. The first stroke in March signalled a marked decline in her health and the last thirty-six hours left little choice. Fifteen is considered a good age but there is no right time to make that decision. Only the knowledge that it was selfish to allow her to suffer got me through. She died with her head in my hand.
We will have many happy memories of the five years we shared but at the moment I’m plagued by “if only” thoughts. She was devoted to Kimberley and me, loved her home and garden, driving in the car given half a chance, almost all known food-types, grew to be fond of the cat and having her head and neck cleaned by Storm when we awoke each morning.
I’m conscious that we live in a world with unspeakable hardship but her loss hurts like blazes.