The last week or so, Maddie’s been spending a lot of time hanging out with me, and I’ve been happy to sit and watch a baseball game or whatever for a couple hours while petting her or scratching her head with a pen. It’s made me happy, too. And she’s been pretty much herself, though she’s obviously not as spry as she was pre-heat-wave-heart-incident, and doesn’t breathe quite so well.
But she didn’t seem like she was in pain, or anything, much as we fretted. Today while Jill was home, she didn’t seem to be doing well, and it went downhill from there: panting, loss of muscle control, everything. By the time we got her to the vet, she couldn’t breathe and it was clear she wasn’t going to get through it.
I can’t bring it all together still, the ten years, her last few months, still interested and princess-y, and seeing her there in her last minutes, all but gone. Writing this, I kept expecting to hear her wander in to jump on the desk and check out what I’m working on, and I’d say “Hey!” and scratch her head and explain what I’m typing about. Yet I’m relieved that we were able to do some good by being there when everything went bad, and could offer some kind of merciful end.