A couple of years ago, longtime readers may recall, I found a little stray beagle on Euclid street in D.C. She was in terrible shape, malnourished, disease-ridden, and obviously abused. I couldn’t leave her there, nursed her halfway back to health and found her some wonderful parents, a gay couple who were friends of mine. After a hefty amount of vet bills, she thrived. And this morning I got this email:
I just wanted to let you know that Euclid left us about two months ago. (Sorry for the delay in letting you know, but it’s still really hard to face this.)
She seemed to be taken rather suddenly by pancreatic cancer. Up until the Wednesday evening, she was her usual self. In the middle of the night, after being let out twice, she started throwing up in bed. On Thursday Ron took her to the vet. Things were looking bad enough for her that we brought her home Thursday night.
We were able to spend a final night sitting up with her. I called my parents (they thought of her as their “grand dog”) who came over at 5:00am to spend some time with her, because she was suffering so much that we wanted to get her to the vet’s when the office opened.
We got there shortly after the office opened, but before the vet got in. While Ron was signing the papers to have her put down, Euclid passed away naturally, on her own.
Needless to say, Euclid’s passing still leaves a considerable hole in our lives. However, we retain many wonderful memories of her and the joy she brought to us. And we’ll always be grateful to you for bringing us into her life.
I am sorry that you never got to see the happy, confident dog that she became. (Although she still kept traces of your influence. If the Sunday paper was left on the floor and there was a Maureen Dowd piece, she’d piddle all over it.)
Beagles, I tell you. Minds of their own. May she chew for ever in peace.
The Dish 