Farewell Little Man

Fritzy, 1999

Last night he looked so sad. We cuddled in bed, he put his head on my breast, and he gazed longingly into my eyes. I held him close. I rubbed his belly and his back. I straightened his poor, savaged beard. He sighed and closed his eyes and leaned heavily against my heart

For three days he hadn't eaten a bite. He had thrown up in the heat every time he tried to ride in the car. He fell over in the park. He could no longer jump on the bed by himself. He didn't go to the door when the package delivery man knocked and Gus was throwing a fit.

At 4:00 this afternoon the vet checked his blood work to find he was off the charts in all the bad things that signal kidney failure. He was so very sick.

So, at 4:30 the vet carefully inserted the catheter. I held him and kissed him and sobbed into his soft, sweet fur. Papa held Gus, who looked on with wonder. The vet inserted the needle and he sank sideways onto the soft toweling given him his last bit of comfort. His heart continued to beat but he no longer knew us. He was so quiet. The vet left us alone. Papa cried. I sobbed. Gus watched in wonder.

We knew immediately when he was gone. One minute his gentle little spirit was with us -- and then suddenly the room was empty.

The vet came back, checked his heart, but we already knew.

I paid the final bill for him, arranged to get his ashes later in the week, and we drove home, just the three of us now.

I love you, Fritzy. I thought after Wolf that my heart simply wouldn't break again. But it could -- and it has. I will miss you terribly. You are such a good little boy, such a silly, pretty little minx, such an engaging personality. Saying goodbye my dear little friend is so awful. The tears just won't stop.

Fritzy during his last summer, 2008 -- sleeping with Gus