Earlier today I stood looking out the window, waiting for a friend to arrive. I started to choke up, like I had a few other times today. Like I had most of yesterday after he had returned my phone call. And as I did my oldest dog Tursa, whom I had been stroking, started to whimper and pull herself up to lick my face. I offered her my cheek and like usual, she would have no part of that, so I turned my head to face her and let her lick the front of my face. She was after all trying to console me for my troubles. It was different than when she tried to do this as I was sitting tying my shoes in the morning, playing a game of dodge Tursa's tongue. She hadn't done that the past few months though, preferring to stay laying by the heater vent in the other room. Today I would give her what she wanted. It was her birthday. She was born December 24th... thirteen years ago.
My friend, a retired veterinarian, arrived ten minutes later. Tursa mustered a little growl at the strange car pulling in, but that quickly gave way to a wagging tail as he and his wife walked in and said hi. Tursa stayed on the table I had lifted her onto. She knew she was most comfortable lying down. Her hind legs just weren't what they used to be. It was her time.
Rest in peace, Tursa.