We received the sad news that my sister and brother in law’s yellow labrador, Zoe, who had been diagnosed with liver cancer just two weeks ago, was put to rest on Saturday morning.
In the course of those two weeks, her health declined precipitously and within just the final few days she went from somewhat normal levels of energy, activity and appetite to being unable to eat or drink anything, let alone get up from the floor or move on her own.
Zoe was Jenn and Kevin’s first “child”, giving them a trio of years of experience caring for another living being before my oldest niece was born.
Emily wasn’t as close to Zoe as my younger niece, Ava, has been. But for both of them, the loss of a permanent part of their life will bring about all sorts of questions and worries and sadness.
Emily, who is old enough to remember her great-grandmother (my father’s mother), stated that now Zoe would be in heaven and would take walks with Grandma Schultz. While Grandma was always a bit overwhelmed by Zoe (she was very demonstrative of her affections when she was younger, jumping all over you and sharing her very fur with you), I’m sure that image will provide the whole family with comfort.
Above: Ava and Zoe, best of friends, watch an endless summer afternoon pass by.
If the nature of things is that life is given and taken away on a whim, it seems that our clinging onto memories in an earnest, if futile, attempt to resist that capriciousness.