This blog isn't about culturally correct behavior. Nor is it about travel. This is an ode to a dear friend. After 12 loyal, wonderful years, our German Shepherd Ingo was put to rest yesterday.
After developing a weakness in the hips, a common ailment in most Shepherds, we began to see a marked decline in our dog over the past week. Waking early in the morning yesterday, Peter knew the time had come when Ingo could barely lift himself up for his normally much anticipated walk. Peter immediately called our vet.
Lying on a sunny patch on our decking, right in front of our favorite mosaic depicting the Tree Of Life, Peter, my step-daughter Natasha and I spent our last hour with Ingo as we waited for the vet to arrive. Having diligently and lovingly looked after Ingo since he was a pup, our vet had the unenviable task of finally putting him to rest. Arriving at 11 am on the dot with his assistant, looking sullen and subdued, the Ingo that we knew was gone 20 minutes later.
What stayed with our family after our loyal pet was gone were, of course, the wonderful memories. What I didn't count on were the almost deafening echoes of silence that reverberated throughout our household when he was no longer with us. Little did I realize how much of our day and routine was taken up with looking after our pet. And mostly, how much of our joy was as a result of our interaction with him.