It’s that time of year again. March 2. That day.
3 years ago, on a grey and chilly morning, I drove the little black dog to her date with the grim reaper. She’d had two sleepless nights, lying in pain, unable to eat or even lie down. This all at the end of a months long slow degeneration from cancer.
She was just the best at everything a dog should be. The best companion. The best sleep buddy. The best hiking buddy. The best friend on a tough day.
I’ve said about all that can be said on this. So today is just an acknowledgement.
I’ve dug around and found a few pictures from her younger days, but of course also wrote about Mandela in more detail here.