I wrote a while back about two Irish Setters named Bud and Lou I see in the Park most mornings. Like redheaded racehorses, when they see me coming, gallop to greet me.
About a month ago, their mistress, who had Lou on his leash, an immediate cause for concern, said he was diagnosed with an inoperable tumor, the vet predicting he merely had two months to live.
Like most dogs, Lou seemed oblivious to his alleged fate, waggy and loving, giving you wet kisses in-between peeks in your pocket for that possible cookie.
On Friday when I saw him, his mistress said he was so sick the day before, she was all set to bring him in to put him down, but then he seemed to rally.
Before I go on, let me say, it takes a helluva person to have the humanity to put a pet out of their misery despite their own broken heart.
She let Lou loose who, as usual was very happy to see me, sprawling across my lap as I crouched on one knee.
I hugged and kissed him hardly able to believe he had been so sick, just the day before.
I told him I loved him and thanked him for always making me smile whenever we met, not realizing, we were both saying good bye.
The following day I didn’t see them.
But the day after that, only Bud came to greet me.
Godspeed Puppy, and thanks for being a friend, when I needed one the most.
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Dogs are man's best friend
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