In Requiem

It’s been a rough 24 hours for us. Our little girl Ellie Mae is gone, and we’re resigned to the idea she’s not coming back.

She didn’t have the stamina to go far from the house, so we think she must have fallen off the seawall. I’m still processing guilt for not having been there to rescue her, but she’d slipped away on purpose, and if that’s what happened I suppose at least she was doing what she wanted.

Ellie was 14, diabetic, nearly blind from cataracts, and weak in the rear legs. We’re not sure whether she was deaf or not — she never listened all that well, even when she was a young dog.

There were few pleasures left in her life. I’d taken to calling her ‘snoozey the dog’. The time to take her for the big sleep was approaching. If I’d known she was outside, I might have let her be — when you’re doing that poorly, you should have your way whether it’s a wise idea or not.

Ellie was independent, and not affectionate except in the presence of company, but she laid in my arms like she wanted to be there, and always sought me out after stepping on something sharp. I loved her, and I suspect she might have loved me.

Goodbye, Ellie Mae Ewok. I miss you, and always will

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