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My first
night here, as I chatted with my parents in the living room before we
retired for the night, I noticed how quiet the house was. Where was Rocky,
the wonderdog? There was no confused barking on my entering the house;
no reacquainting myself with the perpetually spooked guardian of their
home. I didn't ask where he was; the old dog had been ill and was not
expected to be around much longer. Just in the door, I didn't want to
bring up a sore subject.
Shortly, as if reading my mind, my parents volunteered that Rocky is no
more. He had become so infirm, deaf, blind, constantly miserable and barely
able to move about the house, that last week they finally took him to
the vet and had him "euthanized." They gave me a detailed account
of being present while the vet administered the injection; and how Rocky
hung on, not going quickly, but continuing to breathe. The vet had to
give another ampoule of the poison before Rocky finally succumbed.
We
reminisced about what a great dog Rocky had been. And then my mom chirped
in that they have an assignment for me while I am out here; I have to
get them new dog. Not that I am really expected to go out and find one,
but they want some input. They have an encyclopedia of dogs and are studying
the various breeds and their characteristics.
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