RIP, Dobe

I couldn't write about this until the kids got home. I didn't want them to read about it on the computer.

On Friday, our male dog died. He was 11 1/2 years old. He'd been losing weight for a few weeks, and we had an appointment at the vet for him, but he never made it. It was really hard for me, much harder than I ever thought it would be. You see, every time before that I've lost a pet, I never had to watch it die. I knew Dobe was dying and I couldn't do anything about it. I just had to watch. I wish I could have comforted him somehow, but I just couldn't bring myself to touch him. I wish I had cradled his head and petted him, but I didn't. Hubby came home from work to bury him. He went out in 95 degree heat in the middle of the afternoon and dug a grave in the back of our field. I haven't been to see it.

He was such a good dog. He loved attention, he loved people. We taught him to shake hands when he was a puppy and that was always the first thing he did when he came up to someone. He used to wag his tail so hard he'd practically bend in half; talk about the tail wagging the dog! He wasn't the brightest dog in the world, but he more than made up for it in love and devotion. When he looked at me for the last time, I could still see that in his eyes.

I'll miss you Dobert, Dobe-man, Dobinator. Rest in peace.