We went for our walk tonight. Fred had spunk, his ears flopping with each step. “He’s doing really well tonight,” I thought. “Maybe Tuesday is too soon?” I shined the flashlight back on him to show him the way. First telephone pole. He was keeping up at a good pace. Ethel and I kept going. Fred lingered to smell a branch that had fallen in the wind. “Come on, Buddy. Keep coming.” Second telephone pole. Fred’s back legs were beginning to scrape. The rain wetting our faces. Third telephone pole – time to turn around. The scar on the top of his paw broke open with a bubble of red blood starting to flow. “Okay, Fred. Let’s get you home.”
Walking backwards, I watched Fred carefully as we made our way home. He stumbled off the curb and into the street. His vision is getting worse, evidenced by the milky cataracts forming in his eyes. I wonder what he thinks and feels. Is he ready to leave this world, be relieved of the pain and discomfort, stop fighting such a good fight? He is my cherished companion and forever friend.