My companion, photo assistant, the embodiment of unconditional love has left her physical self and is now a soul in a happier place.
She started to shut down days before we were scheduled to move into our new home.
Following a visit to the vet and a new protein cocktail and meds, I held out hope that she would bounce back -- it helped but not enough. She lost her ability to walk, to be herself again. Very reluctantly, I scheduled a vet appointment, Tuesday, November 1, at 3 PM.
That morning she lay on her bed in front of the house, a pillow under her head so she could take in the morning: the sheep in the pasture across the way, the ravens gliding overhead. I sat next to her, stroked her head, scratched her ears, and ran my hand along her chest. We talked.
When it was time, I laid her in the back seat and rolled down the window. I have this memory of her giving me "the look" in the rearview mirror--my signal, window down, she'd poke her head out, ears flopping in the breeze, taking in the smells, happy.
We took a long slow drive into town. Once at the clinic, a tech helped me carry her into an exam room, and onto the exam table. Weeza and I had some time alone before the vet arrived with a sedative. Too soon afterward the tech appeared in the doorway, syringe in hand. He prepped the injection site, inserted the needle, and slowly administered the pentobarbital. I placed my hand on Weeza's chest, her heartbeat began to slow, and then it stopped.
That evening I buried her on the hill just north of the house.
This loveliest of souls, my most bootiful Weeza.
So sorry to have never met 'Weeza'. I'm glad she made her way to Patagonia to feel the sun and watch the sheep. My heartfelt condolences, David, on your dreadful loss. May Louisa and all our loved ones on four feet meet us across the Rainbow Bridge someday.