"She's gone."

Independent, strong, resolute, brave, intuitive, curious, challenging, stoic, agile, endurant, aware: Tiggeroo.

My lifeline: Tiggeroo.

I had avoided thinking about it. I had intended to go with her, lying beside her with my face buried in the thick, red-brindle fur on the back of her neck. As I had so many times. Safe, able to sleep.

But it happened so quickly that I now avoid thinking at all. Unable to do because everything was done with her. Shared with her. And when I can't avoid, I can't breathe. Panic and desperation rises from deep inside and overwhelms me.

She lay on her right side with her head resting on my chest as I stroked her forehead, her legs stretched out between mine. Her head lifted and turned when the veterinarian walked in. I reached up and directed it back towards me. "No—don't—look—at—her—look—at—me—Tiggeroo." She glanced back and stared, her golden-brown eyes expectant, but patient. As always. Trusting. The first shot knocked her out quickly, her eyes shut and her tongue relaxed. I did not expect that. I thought she would look like she did when she usually slept.

"She's gone." And the stethoscope was withdrawn from her once-beating heart.

Website published August 24, 2011, the anniversary of her adoption seventeen years ago. Copyright © 2011