So, My Dog Died...

So, My Dog died. Her name was Myrtle. She was a Pembroke Corgis that Mom bought from a couple who insisted on meeting us at a Walmart in Rutledge. It was obvious that we weren't being told the truth. I told Mom to get Myrtle anyway.
The couple came clean, later and admitted that Myrtle was a rescue. It was obvious from the time I got her home she had been abused. She would flinched at any sudden movement and a raised voice would send her running for cover. She had a lot of emotional issues.

We had her for about 6 years. I owned her on my own for little more than a year.

 

She was a beautiful dog. Damaged but in the end she loved me as much as she could. It killed me to put her down. I did it for her, I did not want to live in any more fear or pain. 

I wrote this for Myrtle.

My dog has died.
I watched her slip away into sleep
released from the pains of this world
after all the tears we cried
her asleep at my bedside
how I tried to reassure her fears
over the few years
each time it stormed
our comfort conformed

Perhaps we don't really own dogs as much as we agree to share the world with them. I like to think so. Myrtle gave more to me than I feel like I gave to her. Now she's gone and I would be totally crushed if it weren't for Sophie. Sophie is also a Corgi and thank God is healthy and hardy.

 Sophie is a retired breeder from Corgi Farm in Middle Tennessee. I love her and she has quickly filled the hole that Myrtle left. We spend all day together, wherever I go, she follows and I've made her several beds so she can be comfortable until we move again. 

Still, the pain of losing Myrtle seems to hard to bear.
I shall sleep then, promises to keep. I hope that Myrtle will live on the wolf dream that I believe all dogs have as they all descended from wolves...

except for Chilwowas (they're just grown-up rats)
(kidding)

don't bite me.