Picture Perfect 1

It was the day before, I took her for a walk through the mountains. She was much slower than she used to be. She used to run a mile ahead of me, chasing every squirrel in sight. As I gained my years, Daisy gained hers faster. The brown on her nose has faded to a light grey, but her eyes still remained bright whenever I came home from my long work day. I knew what was coming, but she didn’t and maybe it was better that way. A few weeks prior to Daisy and I’s exploit she had collapsed while running through the front yard, my daughter wailed out crying. She sat with Daisy in the middle of the yard, stroking her fur coat gently and reassuring her it’s okay. I pried my daughter off of the feeble Daisy, and rushed her to the vet. After twelve years with her, I thought this would be our last few hours together as she whined in the back seat with her muzzle pressed in the indent. I sat with her on the raw table and held her paw as her beaming black eyes stared at me, assuming the vet would say the worst. She had a tumor in her left front leg, a destructive one. He told me a twelve year old dog couldn’t handle this pain and I should put her down, but I asked for a few more weeks until we put her down, I couldn’t let go that easily. She had given her whole life to me, my daughter, my wife. She endured countless tail pulling’s and fur tugs from my budding daughter, yet she had never even nipped her slightly. Every single day she sat on the front mat until I came home, and despite how much pain she was in, she always jumped right up to great me. Daisy was a part of me, and I would want to live my last few weeks in pacification. So the day before I took her to the mountains, and everything felt blissful. I lay on the rocks next to a small pond while she breathlessly would guzzle large mouthfuls of water, limp over to me, and then proceed gulping the crystal water.  My fingers ran steadily through her greying fur as she panted, spilled her water all over my hiking boots. Maybe it was for me more than it was for her, letting Daisy enjoy her last few weeks, because burying an animal three feet under can be just as hard as burying someone six feet under.