Minutes ago. Peacefully. Seemingly painlessly.
Here, in her home. Familiar surroundings. Family around her.
I was talking to Pat, today. Said she was going. He said she must be fourteen years old. No complaints then.
Spoke to him again, just now. Seems we're promised vicious rain, tomorrow. But, if we get a dry patch, he'll come and dig a hole.
I'll pop her in the fridge. She won't mind that. Nor will I. Why would I?
She was a Great little Dog. This place will sorely miss her.
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