The Love of a Dog
I lay Lexy on the cold metal examination table. The vetanarian gives Lexy, my beautiful husky, a pat on the head. “There is nothing else we can do for her, the cancer has progressed to her kidneys” she whispers with sympathy. I nod my head, with tears streaming down my checks, to land on Lexy’s nose. Lexy gives me a tentative lick on my hand, trying to comfort me even though it is her I am trying to be brave for. I have to be brave today, because today is the day I let Lexy go over to the other side of the rainbow. The vet touches my shoulder and says, “I will let you have time to say your goodbyes and come back in with the medicine. She won't feel a thing,” she promises me, “it will be just like she is going to sleep.” The door shuts on my sob. “Lexy,” I whisper, “I do not want to say goodbye.” Lexy glances into my eyes and I am positive she does not want to say goodbye either. So, I do not say goodbye. I remember. I remember all the adventures me and Lexy went on, and start telling Lexy of all the joy she brought me in her short life.
