Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Kenyon must leave us, too.
Sadly, in this time of intense grief, Kenyon's life has ceased to be neutral and consists mainly of the slow endurance of pain, punctuated by a few treats. Kathleen has bravely decided to put him down tomorrow. As she pointed out, even if we left him here with someone during our trip south for Rachel's memorial, he wouldn't eat; he might not even get up. He lives for Kathleen. He rises on his trembling, aching joints and shuffles forward for her. He would do anything for her; he would stop his suffering for her if he could.
The timing could be better but Kathleen's right; it's time. We intend to take him out for one last swim today. His appointment with the vet is tomorrow at 4:15 PM.
Some of Kenyon's story appears earlier in this blog when he was kidnapped and held for ransom in Mexico until we won him back. He's now been back with us longer than he was apart from us, which is a blessing.
Kenyon's a little over 14 years old. For the record, I am not a "dog person," but he is the bravest and most loyal animal I have ever known, and a beauty besides. And a champion swimmer. Even now people comment on his beauty as he limps along the beach.
Kenyon has been Kathleen's service dog for many years (though he now needs a hearing-ear dog himself). I wanted to hold onto him past Rachel's memorial service but Kathleen is right; that would be selfish. It is time, perhaps even past time.
I have never seen a bond between a human and an animal like Kenyon and Kathleen have; it's uncanny. I call him her "familiar."
At least we knew this loss was coming. I don't know if that makes it easier.