I lost my best dog on Saturday. She was thirteen years old. They said she had a big tumor and a spot on her lung. They said that nothing could be done. I miss her. She was a good dog.
I found this poem called Spoils of the Dead by Robert Frost. I particularly like the last stanza:
But I recognised death With sorrow and dread, And I hated and hate The spoils of the dead.
I can relate. A part of me has been taken. I have been robbed by death’s cold hand. And I hate it so very, very much.
R.I.P. Daisy (2007-2020)