It's strange how things turn out. Daisy is my sister's miniature wiener dog, and she got a Zorro to be Daisy's baby-daddy. Zorro was always a bit of a pistol, to hear tell, but I never got to meet him, until Friday night. Last Wednesday after work, I went to Mom and Dad's for Thanksgiving, stayed until the afternoon. Loaded the car up and headed for home. Got all the way home only to discover I'd left my purse at the folks' house. Friday night I drove back to Dallas, but needed a key to get in(Mom and Dad had gone out of town), so I went to BlowfuzzyVonSassy's house for the key, and there at long last I finally met the handsome, dashing and sassy Zorro, a neuter blade, of late. He bit me. He was amazingly cute and all wound up. I didn't stay long, but I was so happy to finally meet the famous little masked one. He was a little character, and clearly bent out of shape to find an interloper in the house so late. He was not happy at all that I was there. It was funny and he was a handsome little brute, and I forgave him immediately for the little nip, because it was my little sister he was protecting, bless him.
Zorro made a break for freedom, zipped out into the street last night and got run over. The people just drove away, not stopping. Now I'm glad I left my purse and had to go back to Dallas or I would never have seen his handsome little face in person.
I know the horror of seeing my dog run over by a car, and it's devastating, but in my case with Valentine, she lived several more years. It's so awful for a pet's life to be cut short, though. However long we have a dear pet, their time with us feels cruelly brief. I know, though, that if our sweet little dogs had the ability to consider such things, they'd want us not to be sad. They'd want us to run and play and tussle and raid the pantry and give too many treats and too many hugs and scratches on the belly. And if they had the ability to waste time considering their own mortality, I think they'd rather rush headlong to meet it like the brave, madcap little beasts they are, rather than wasting away to a geriatric state wherein each step brings the agony of grinding old bones and a lost will to chew socks or chase rabbits. I think the short sharp end would be what they'd choose, rather than a lingering agony. It's no comfort to us either way but I picture blaze-of-glory endings for dogs- it really fits them, in a way.
So I'm really sad for my sister and her family - I know the grief is terrible for them. I'm so sad for their loss because I know what a loving, cuddly little guy he was. I'm also remembering the loss of my own dog, and wondering and dreading the loss of other sweet darlings someday. I'm crying now, because the sweet joy of pets must be tinged with such bitter sadness. But I'm going to pull myself together in a minute, and I'm going to cuddle my dogs, and pet their sweet heads, and probably give them too many treats.
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