Today we had to have our beloved cat, Morrison, put to sleep. He’s had diabetes and arthritis for the past two years, and today we learned he had cancer and that there was nothing that could be done.
So for today’s old photo we take a look at what’s probably going on in Heaven right now (after Zephyr finished sniffing his butt that is)…
Believe it or not, there’s actually very good news today too, but it will have to wait.
Wanting to start the new year off with a clean slate of sorts, we decided that yesterday would be the day to scatter Zephyr’s ashes. She loved hiking with me more than anything else, and I always knew that when she died, I’d take her for one last hike. So off we went to a trail along a nearby river that we’ve hiked many times.
Yesterday’s weather was beautiful, sunny with a slight breeze, probably upper 70s. We walked through the cedar forest until we came to a place where the trail takes a westward bend on a bluff overlooking the river. That’s where we left her. It’s a beautiful spot and a place where we often stop to rest.
Whenever I think of her, I think of summer hikes along narrow hill country streams where she used to bite the water before drinking, the way she strained the leash to chase after squirrels and rabbits, the way she used to constantly turn around to make sure I was still there on the other end of the leash. I miss all that, but I’m not sad, not anymore. In fact I’m smiling from ear-to-ear as I type this.
It’s never easy to lose them, but as someone once told me, it gives us the chance to make new friends such as Phoebe, whose middle name is Grace because she sort of became the saving grace of 2005 when we realized how badly Daphne needed another dog.
We lost Zephyr to cancer a month ago today, and that’s kind of what’s on my mind. The house is quieter as our cat and other dog don’t make nearly as much noise since they don’t tend to follow anyone around the way Zephyr did.
We got her 8 years ago at the Town Lake Animal Shelter in Austin, and she proved to be a loyal companion and a wonderful friend. She was a greyhound/whippet mix possessed of the greyhound’s natural friendliness and sensitivity combined with the courage of a whippet. She would actually bark at the doorbell while our purebred greyhound always runs away.
I’ve always felt that one of life’s cruelest injustices is the fact that we live so long while they live such a short time. She may have been “only a dog,” but the heart does not discriminate when a friend is lost. Still, there are so many great memories of hill country hikes and shenanigans around the house that it’s hard not to smile when I think about her.