How one family faced the death of their beloved pet
It has been several months since our handsome and energetic dog — a grand pet, one that my mother deemed “the quintessential dog” — passed away. He was 14, and we had gently been preparing our seven-year-old son and 10-year-old daughter for his end without knowing when or how it would come. Now, in our too-quiet house with its ache and its absence, I see that it was our children who instinctively took the lead in helping us all through our dear dog’s demise.
Kevin, who had been in robust health — streaking along tormenting our cats, chasing squirrels and gobbling up bread left for pigeons in the park — developed an odd skin condition early last summer. The left side of his body went black and thick and entirely reptilian, as if he were evolving into an ankylosaurus.
“Ho-lee!” exclaimed our vet. He had never seen anything like it. He shaved some of Kevin’s blond golden retriever/border collie fur, took a swab for the lab and prescribed antibiotics.
The drugs made a dent in our bank account, but not in Kevin’s health. The “infection” spread.