There should be music, sad, sad music...

As I recently BLOGGED in A cup closer to death, Dog Dog, a.k.a. Sophie isn't doing great. I'm no Dr. Doolittle, but I'm beginning to think that it will be a close race to expiration between Dog Dog and the Dog Food (for those who haven't read A cup closer... scroll down and read it real hard, then come back up here, you hear?)

Then again, I thought we were going to have to put her to sleep last August, which obviously didn't happen. One of the reasons we've struggled with the decision to put her down (I hate that freaking expression, yet I just used it) is because of the Elder Boy.

Example...

This morning, I got Ethan out of bed around 7am. We were walking (actually he was being carried) to the front room. Our den area is where we do most of our living. Dog Dog's bed is next to the hearth. You can't see it, or her, until you walk into the room from the front of the house, hallway, etc. So, we round the corner into the room and Ethan asked, "Where Dog Dog go?"

Insert sad music...like the movies have...

I keep walking and she comes into view on his right. I point to her, and said, "Dog Dog's on her bed, Son." The Boy looks over at her, big smile on his face, "Good Morning Dog Dog." Followed by, "Cock-A-Doodle-Doo Sophie.)*

Until I BLOG again...
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*Ethanese: Cock--A-Doodle-Doo is synonymous with wake up.
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