No-one ever said going blind was easy. The actual process could possibly be described as easy. Poof one minute you can see, the next the world is black or a blurred fog. Tough, live with it as my wife said to me the other day.
The hard part is the mental but. I still want to see. I'd give almost anything to see again. Almost anything? You may ask.
Yes almost. Money would go, house, wife even. But not my dog. The line would even hold true if you would say that I were to die. If it were my life or my dogs life. I would surrender myself to my fate to save her.
Why? My dog has been with me for eighteen years now. A German Shepherd. She is of good Czech breeding lines, kennel name Hariska Intrigue, but for all those 18 years I have called her Polly.
A few months ago I noticed a wobble of her back legs as she walked, a slight scuff of the ground by her claws. That moment filled me with cold dread. She was showing the first signs of aging, the first mark that time was catching up with us.
Today she cannot really get up from her bed. She is bent like a birthday card trying to stand. She can just go to the bathroom, only just, without falling. Some days are tough but I know very soon I have to make a really hard decision.
I cannot go in her stead. I want to, I really want to.
Yesterday I fed her. When she had finished she picked up her steel food bowl and flung it across the room. She used to do that as a puppy. As if to say, "I am finished." Perhaps in her way that is what she was telling me yesterday. "I am finished. Time to go."
The hard part is the mental but. I still want to see. I'd give almost anything to see again. Almost anything? You may ask.
Yes almost. Money would go, house, wife even. But not my dog. The line would even hold true if you would say that I were to die. If it were my life or my dogs life. I would surrender myself to my fate to save her.
Why? My dog has been with me for eighteen years now. A German Shepherd. She is of good Czech breeding lines, kennel name Hariska Intrigue, but for all those 18 years I have called her Polly.
A few months ago I noticed a wobble of her back legs as she walked, a slight scuff of the ground by her claws. That moment filled me with cold dread. She was showing the first signs of aging, the first mark that time was catching up with us.
Today she cannot really get up from her bed. She is bent like a birthday card trying to stand. She can just go to the bathroom, only just, without falling. Some days are tough but I know very soon I have to make a really hard decision.
I cannot go in her stead. I want to, I really want to.
Yesterday I fed her. When she had finished she picked up her steel food bowl and flung it across the room. She used to do that as a puppy. As if to say, "I am finished." Perhaps in her way that is what she was telling me yesterday. "I am finished. Time to go."