• One life at a time

Because we loved you so.

A letter of love, Until Tomorrow


Berg ,


Today was the day we had to say goodbye. It’s only been two and a half years, but it seems like you’ve been here forever. I remember the day a woman brought you up to the deck with a collar and leash of dirty baling twine. She said you ran up on her porch and the line got caught in the railing. I didn’t believe her, and I couldn’t take that rope fast enough. You were skinny, dirty, and covered in cuts and scratches.


Fast forward...


With years of homemade dog food, vitamins, sleeping on orthopedic dog beds, lounging around the farm, swimming in the pond, going to horse events, life has been good. Last month I noticed that you were limping a little, not uncommon with big dogs running and playing. But then the lump appeared, almost overnight, it seemed. Our doc, who really is the James Herriot of Chester County, took one look at it, and said, bring him in tomorrow. Osteosarcoma. The worst diagnosis possible. But you know me, I can always fix everything, right?


We jumped on it, sent the x-rays to Penn, to another high end cancer specialist, and you & I wound up in the office of one of the most acclaimed oncologists in the area. In a huge modern glass building, we met with the best of the best. We can help you, he said. In his big arsenal of weapons he offered amputation, chemo, several kinds of radiation. I was encouraged. But then he said that none of the choices would provide you with any more than another year, and often considerably less. And of course none of the options would be pain free. I looked at him, and wondered why we were even talking. I thanked him for his time, and we drove home and went out to one of your favorite places.


I sat in the grass with you for a long time, thinking how much I will miss you, and how I thought you would grow old on the farm. It was hard to face the truth. One of the few times I am really defeated. For this to suddenly happen to you, at three years old, our big gentle giant, is unthinkable. But it did. And so we let you go today before the pain became unmanageable, while you still had your happy spirit, your wide, gentle smile, and your squinty eyes.


Because we loved you so.

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