But I am counting our time together with good and bad days. Bad days I have to wake him up at 9 and carry him down for the morning walk. He usually has a drink of water and a sniff of breakfast before going over to the family room sofa, moving next to the den and finally retreating to our room. We have "his" blankets everywhere but his favorite is an old baby blanket that I keep on my bed. On a good day he is gently tucked sleeping, on bad days he is curled like a little bug.
The challenge with proud little dogs is they don't show pain, and they can't tell you how they feel. I know the end is near, but on good days I see every sign as hopeful. Nothing will change or reverse the disease. The treatments are bandaids that temporarily lessen the symptoms and make him more comfortable but they don't reverse the inevitable, they just delay the end.
He was always the last best dog for us. Zed. He exceeded all of our expectations and rewarded us daily with his love. My prayer is that I will have the courage to do what is best for him when the time comes and not what is best for me.
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