Forgive me for the gloominess that's ahead. You know when I'm having trouble with something, it helps me to sort it out by writing about it, so here goes.

Davis and I just got home from walking our old dog, Sugar. She'll be 13, in a couple of weeks, and our walks just aren't what they used to be. For as long as we've had her until just recently, our dog walking regimen has been the one mile round trip of our cul-de-sac; stopping at every mailbox and light pole to sniff around and leave our calling card. But, lately, heart failure has our nightly walks cut down to about 1/4 mile and half of that is spent carrying her. When she stops and looks up at us, we know that's our cue that she needs a little help, even though we can tell she wants, with all her heart, to keep going like we used to do.
One of the times Davis bent down and picked her up, tonight, he kind of made a soft grunt as he stroked her head. I knew exactly what the sound meant. Even before he said anything else. It meant that she's been here, scurrying around the feet of our lives, for so long that it hurts really bad to see age slowly taking her from us. She's in the background of our kids' pictures when they were little; looking up as they'd blow out birthday candles or on the floor in the middle of father/son wrestling matches or sitting in heaps of wrapping paper on all those Christmas mornings. She's cuddled up with us when we've been sick. Been our nap partner. Our biggest fan. Our security system. Our welcome wagon. Our loyal companion. Our constant shadow. But, little by little, without us really noticing, as our kids were growing up, she was growing old.

I suppose when you get a pet, you're signing on for inevitable heartbreak. When something you love ages seven times faster than you do, well, there's going to be a goodbye that comes way before you're ready for it. Odds are that you'll be forced to grieve the loss of your devoted friend and be left to decide if the love is worth ever doing that kind of pain again. As our family is getting closer to that point, it's breaking our hearts, really.

I know I've told you about Sugar. She's half dachshund and half chihuahua. She didn't cost us a dime. No papers. No pedigree. No show ribbons. Just 13 years of pure mutt love.

It's funny how pets fit into the family. Davis is the one who feeds her, so she sees him as her provider and caregiver. She looks to Blair kind of like a sister or her contemporary. And, we can't figure it out, but Carson has always been like her child. She licks and tends to him and scolds him like he's her puppy.

I'm security and emotional support. Especially now. I look over from my chair, where her bed sits, and she's curled up sleeping. She's doing more and more of that. If I'm not in my chair, she won't settle in for the night. She's like a little child, who wants you to lie with her until she falls asleep, except her face and paws are white with old age. I'm the one she looks for when the house is full of guests. The one she runs to when thunder roars. The side of the bed she comes to when she's scared in the night. The one she waits for by the door when I'm out of town. It's a lot of pressure being that person, but it's my distinct honor. As long as she needs me to be.
I know that there are so many people, who are hurting and it may seem trivial to pray about animals, but I think God is ok with that. He's big enough to care for all of His creation. So, when the vet told us she was going down, I asked God, in all of His busyness and concern for His people, that He'd just be merciful to our little dog and, when life becomes more of a burden for her than a gift, that we'd know it. I asked, if at all possible, that He'd just let her go peacefully in her little bed......next to my chair....where she feels safe. And that, when the day comes, whether it's soon or a ways off, that He'd help us to let go of our faithful friend, knowing we've done all we could to show her what it feels like to love and to be loved back.

Night, night, y'all.