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For the first time since I was 12, I am without a dog. Pomo waited till I got back to town, and in the end went peacefully. I am grateful to her for many things, but most of all for being a great hot water bottle and teaching me how to be affectionate. Thanks to her, I have never been lonely when I have been sad. She was old, almost 16. Apart from childbirth and being mauled by a pack of strays once, she has never been ill till this last time. She was affectionate, and slept in my bed every night I was home. Many of my friends have woken up hungover with a dachshund's bum in their face. She lost her appetite three weeks ago and was on a drip for a week. Liver and kidney failure in an old, small dog has no cure. She still had energy though and was going for a walk. She got really bad 3 days ago, but she waited for me to return from a trip before dying in her sleep. She was good dog, very distinguished. She looked at thrown balls with disdain - too aristocratic to fetch. She was inordinately susceptible to the cold for a teutonic creature. Here ears flopped and flapped very endearingly when she ran. She made me a much better person than I am. I will miss her dearly.
