We're having a rough dog year. Last night Cosmo was taken to the emergency vet with what I thought was an obstruction, but he ended up having a tumor on his spleen, which was filling his abdomen with blood. The prognosis was dismal, so we made him comfortable for the night, and brought him home to say our goodbyes. This morning he said goodbye to a tearful Quinn, his boy who he chose so long ago by nearly crawling into the pocket of the camo pants that matched him so perfectly. I wish we'd had more time so Quinn could have said better goodbyes. Then, in true Cosmo form, he patiently let the baby bury her head and kiss him even though he probably wasn't very comfortable. He perked up for Cheerios under the high chair, then we went for a nice romp at the neighborhood park before heading to the vet. He went very peacefully, though it did take a little longer than most. I don't think he wanted to go. I felt very at peace after he went, though, and I think his spirit was hanging around for a while. His body gave out and didn't give us the time we deserved with him. He would have been 7 this summer. This isn't at all what I was expecting.
He was meant to be ours from the start... and thank goodness that nut never dropped, so he was! I wish I could find some of the old pictures, especially the ones in the park where Carolyn and Tom met us on Quinn's birthday (a secret up until the last minute when the trunk popped open and out bounced that little Corgi).
The house feels pretty empty. Losing Cosmo is surreal. We should have had another 7 years with him. At what point do you sweep up the fluff, clean the smudge on the wall (where he would lay upside down and rub dirt), or move the kennel? I guess we'll play this one by ear.
