7 (The Dead Lion)
It was a hot January afternoon. Someone told me to let him go. She had looked into his eyes—there was no light in them anymore. It’s no good, she said. Another person came to see him. They played for a while and then the man left. He called me from the pay phone downstairs. “He’s got to be let out of his misery. Please do it.”
That night I gave my dog his last meal—a big steak, potatoes and vegetables. He ate as if he had never seen food before. He couldn’t sleep; I couldn’t either. I wanted him with me always, my big strong German shepherd. He was my friend, my protector. He’s in Heaven.