My Dearest Smokey,
Your death, it hovers close; an unfortunate reality that pushes hard against your quivering, little heart.
Yesterday, Melanie and I entered into a rather heated argument over your well-being. Her contention rests mainly with watching you struggle to find comfort. She blames me for being headstrong and mentally unable to come to terms with your mortality. There's a part of me that would prefer to idly dismiss her concerns, but they're as valid as my love is for you. It's true. I see your unhappiness and I am unwilling to let you go.
Shall it be easier for you to die? I took you for a brief walk today and you seemed ecstatic, albeit it only for ten minutes. I would've walked you all day long, but your stamina, it's a sliver of what it once was. This temporary happiness...is it worth it to you? Is it enough? Or are you simply done with it all?
Oh, how you used to be filled with life! Old age holds a unique type of brutality, the sort that marks this world with utter and blatant iniquity.
I suppose I could keep you inside. You seem to manage the first floor of our house relatively well.
But what life is that for a dog? Is it even worth living?
I'm beginning to realize that I already know the answers to all these questions...
Your death, it hovers close; an unfortunate reality that pushes hard against your quivering, little heart.
Yesterday, Melanie and I entered into a rather heated argument over your well-being. Her contention rests mainly with watching you struggle to find comfort. She blames me for being headstrong and mentally unable to come to terms with your mortality. There's a part of me that would prefer to idly dismiss her concerns, but they're as valid as my love is for you. It's true. I see your unhappiness and I am unwilling to let you go.
Shall it be easier for you to die? I took you for a brief walk today and you seemed ecstatic, albeit it only for ten minutes. I would've walked you all day long, but your stamina, it's a sliver of what it once was. This temporary happiness...is it worth it to you? Is it enough? Or are you simply done with it all?
Oh, how you used to be filled with life! Old age holds a unique type of brutality, the sort that marks this world with utter and blatant iniquity.
I suppose I could keep you inside. You seem to manage the first floor of our house relatively well.
But what life is that for a dog? Is it even worth living?
I'm beginning to realize that I already know the answers to all these questions...
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