you howl and listen, listen and wait for the echo of angels who won't return
Thirty-six hours ago, I was playing fetch in my driveway with Sable, which is her favorite thing in all the world. Now she is dead. She bloated late Wednesday night, and by the time she went into surgery, the top of her stomach was necrotic. It was a choice, as my vet pointed out, between letting her go painlessly on the table, or putting her down when peritonitis set in 24 hours later. Not much of a choice, that.
First Rorschach, and now Sable. There are no four-footies inhabiting my bedroom any more. I don't know what the point is of my apparent transformation into an avatar of Kali, but I'm ready for it to stop now.