Our short stay in the country ended in heartbreak. If there’s a best way for an animal to die, I can’t say I’ve found it
I
n the days before my father-in-law’s funeral, my wife and I drive to his cottage in the country with the dogs. Our schedule – shredded and hastily reassembled around events – has a window just big enough to go down there, check on things, do the front hedge, weed a bit. It seems important, even if it probably isn’t.
Shortly after we arrive a visitor remarks on the decline of the old dog.
“Really?” my wife says. “I guess we don’t notice.”
