We lost our dog Daisy this morning. She died about two hours ago.
We knew it was coming. She was having trouble walking lately, and her cataracts were getting worse. She could barely see. Over the last few months, she had gotten wobbly and seemed a little befuddled. She still had a good appetite and was moving around on her own until yesterday. Daisy had a routine. She would sleep indoors at night, but all day she’d move from one place in the back yard to another to stay in the sun. Curling up and sleeping in the sun was her favorite “activity.” Last night, she didn’t come in after sunset, and I went out and found her in one of her favorite places. She couldn’t walk, so we brought her in and put her on a cushion and covered her with a blanket. She had no appetite, and she was having trouble raising her head. She slept through the night, and this morning she couldn’t raise her head at all. She died just a couple of hours later, and Darla took her to Silverhill to have her cremated.
She was about 17 years old, give or take. That’s pretty old for a Whippet. She lived a full life of running through the woods, chasing critters and birds, taking long walks, napping in the sun and on the sofa, marking the neighbors’ yards and digging holes.
