Goodbye Corona
We're not very cheerful today. Last night
my daughter had to say good bye to her little furbaby, Corona.
Corona was a six-pound toy poodle made up of energy, bounce, and
pure love. She was velvety black with huge eyes that could look
right into your soul and seem to say, "It's ok to love me,
and I'll love you back, no matter what." And she did. Coming
to 'gramma and grampa's' house always perked her right up, because
she would be the center of attention, and she deserved every moment
of it.
Corona was nine years old, and last year her congenital heart
murmur developed into valve weakness and an enlarged heart. The
vet gave her some drugs, but told us that Corona wouldn't last
but a couple of months. What the vet *didn't* know was just how
much of a fighter was inside this teeny little body.
Corona would have her bad days, and we'd all figure that this
was the end. But no, she wasn't ready yet, and she'd fight fight
fight to stay alive, rally, and for the next few weeks she would
bound and jump and laugh and play just like a puppy. Until the
cycle would begin again.
Last night she didn't bounce back. Her body finally betrayed her
spirit, and time was up. Her huge eyes dilated, her feet turned
icy, and she lay on the floor, breathing heavily and unresponsive.
There would be no recovery this time.
Like a little dark rag, she laid in my daughter's lap on the way
to the vet's, not caring. But once in the office, she protested
fiercely. "Oh no, not the needle, not now, not yet",
and she struggled for a moment with hopeless heroics. Then she
gave her mom and dad one last kiss, one long last look, and then
laid quietly down. Now she was ready, because the
fighter spirit inside her had gone on ahead to clear the way,
to announce her coming to all those waiting furbabies in a new
and beautiful place where all doggies go.
Corona and our dog Maxine never really got along, and barely tolerated
each other ("I'm the cutest!" "No, *I* am!"),
except when one of them would get sick, and then the other would
be concerned and worried to distraction. Maxine may or may not
miss Corona, but when daughter and her hubby come over here from
now on, she'll say, "Hm. Something's missing." Yes,
Maxine, something's missing.....
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