I am deeply saddened to report that Ada the dog has breathed her last. Since Christmas she had been leaky, a condition that old lady dogs are wont to suffer from. But then she started drinking two or three times her normal amount, and had to wear diapers. Multiple medicines didn't help, and then the vet ran of out tests to suggest. Our best guess was cancer. Ada was happy most the time, but also starting to be uncomfortable, and I was exhausted from trying to be home, every four hours day and night, to let her out and change her diaper. I spent a final week trying to cram every day with hikes, treats, and visit to her favorite friends, and on Friday we put her to sleep.
We adopted Ada seven years ago, pretty much the day after Andrew agreed to get a dog. At first her time with us was nerve wracking, as she showed signs of tracing the cat (a precursor to attacking) and fought with a neighbor dog. But intensive training turned her into a well-mannered, quiet dog who seemed to be really happy. She loved to swim and hike, and conned every roommate I've had into becoming her best friend. Several neighbors kept treats just for her, and she could recognize their cars when they drove by during our walks. One of her dog sitters included her in the acknowledgements of his doctoral dissertation, and at least one small child afraid of dogs found the first dog that she didn't fear. She was a beloved companion for me in the years after Andrew died, but she was really his dog.I'll admit that having both of my pets die in the last month has pretty much gutted me. Add the death of my maternal uncle, and I can only hope that I won't repeat the past few weeks any time soon.
