Rubio’s Last Hours

 

Rubio ate his last meal on Monday, January 8th, 2007. He loved meat, so I made him baked meat with potatoes.

I couldn’t sleep that night. And I had to keep the radio on for some sort of company, some sort of solace. Every 20 minutes or so, I would get out of bed to check on his knees. They had started bleeding and I changed the bandages around them.

I know that if it hadn’t been for the radio and the calm voice of the announcer, I would have begun to scream. I didn’t want him to die. I had begged him to get well, to be as strong as he had been, but it just couldn’t be. Rubio had grown tired of fighting his illness. Outwardly, he was a beautiful 12 year-old German shepherd. He had grown tired of trying different types of medicine, only to find out that none of them really worked for long. The relief they provided was temporary—too temporary for what ailed him.

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