She is beautiful. Poetically sad, with distant eyes. Always loved a good belly rub. I’m talking about a dog I see on my way to college. She was always affectionate, but not the typically exuberant golden retriever, but lovely nonetheless.
And she is dying.
She has cancer.
I feel broken. I barely know her and I can’t stop crying. It scares me breathless that I’m already referring to her in the past tense. I can’t believe that she will just stop existing after a while. Like she never was. Does that make sense? It is just not fair. Why does she have to suffer so much? For the first time today I saw the suffering and bravery in her warm chestnut eyes. It broke me. I’ve been on the edge so many times, but I never thought that news of a dog I met on my way to college would break me, but it has. I wish there was something I could do. How can I go on knowing that she certainly cannot?