A month ago, I had to let my cavalier x shih tzu go. She was 14 years old and had a list of old-dog ailments as long as, well, something really long. But first thing in the morning, when I’d get up to let and her little rascal brother out for first wees, she would still bounce around, smile her toothy, tongue out smile and reward me by circling round and round at my feet.
What hurt was the rest of the day, when she would sleep long and hard near the back door; when she would only walk to the end of the yard and back; when she sometimes tilted her head and struggled to focus. She would still look at me when I gave her all the medications like she was happy to go along with it all as long as there were treats. She would grunt like she did as a puppy when I picked her up to squeeze her with love. She moved from room to room with me, content to rearrange herself if it meant she was close to me.
But I had to let her go.
So the greatest gift would be me to have one more conversation with her now. For her to let me know if the time was, in fact, right. Because it was never going to be right for me. I would have had her with me forever.
Lisa Wright - Writer 
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