Our dog died yesterday.
He was our first. We did’t even know what to do with him in the beginning. We learned. He lived to be 17 and a half years old – the stray puppy that had once looked like a small strange rat.
He died naturally, of old age. He was completely blind, limp and had rotten teeth that could not be extracted. He stopped eating, drinking, laid himself down on his favorite rug and passed away.
My father cried the whole evening and buried him in the countryside.
In a world where we have come to talk so casually about euthanizing people, my dad was thanking God he did not have to euthanize his dog.
Writer Between Worlds 