The Love of a Dog

She was always there.
Always listening.
Never telling.
She was the best secret keeper in the world, because who could she tell?  No one would understand her.
But I did.
I spoke to her through the connection we shared, through pats on the head and treats given.
Slowly but surely her age caught up with her, slowly but surely it began to show. She couldn't walk on one of her front legs. She hobbled around like the old lady she was, but then she got better. We gave her two pills a day and she could walk again, even run. We loaded her up in the car and took her to California with us, and she loved the warmth. She would lay in the sun for hours on end not move a muscle. When she got up it was because she wanted a treat, or for us to pet her. But then the age struck again, and if we had known it was cancer when we were back in Wisconsin we could have left her there, at least buried her on our farm.  Bury her next to our cats and bunnies and birds. But we didn't find that out until last night. Last night at 11:40 pm we decided it was time. Time for her to go to a place where pain is impossible, where age matters not and sunshine is eternal.
The vet came in and told us that what he was putting in her leg became famous because of Michael Jackson, and then she was sleeping. Her eyes closed slowly and her breathing slowed. I had to get out of that sterile white room. That hospital grave.
We payed the vet 500 dollars to take our beloved dog from us, to take her and put her out of her pain and burn her body. It doesn't seem fair. Who will I whisper all my secrets to? Who will I take with me to travel the world?
It is said that people or animals do not leave us until they have taught us something.
She has taught me so much.
I guess it is time for her to rest.