Buck died this morning.
He has been slowly failing for the past few months. We almost lost him while I was in North Carolina teaching -- but somehow he managed to keep his shaky limbs going. He even seemed to be getting a little better, though it was clear he couldn't see much, and heard even less.
Last night, he kept asking to go outside -- and wouldn't come back in. Finally, Husband sent Charley out to fetch him back. (Charley's been acting as nursemaid, helping Buck find his way around.) I think now that he was wanting to die out there...we both heard an odd thump early this morning, but I thought it was just the boys wanting go outside. (They don't go by time changes, after all.)
Husband found Buck laying on his side by the coffee table, one of the places he's accustomed to sleep. He didn't look as if he'd struggled, thank God.
We buried him in the herb garden, not far from Goonie. True to form, I plan to plant two 'green' puns: I'll transplant some mint, because Buck was "worth more than a mint." And eventually the raspberries will reach his grave -- because he was "the berries." (He would just look disgusted at me for being so silly.)
Charley seems to understand that Buck is gone. He sniffed Buck's last rest over carefully -- then the spot where he laid outside while we were digging. Finally, he went and checked the grave over. ("Just as long as he doesn't try to 'rescue' him," Husband said.) While we were talking, Charley came over and pushed his head between us, asking for loving.
We needed it, too.
Buck was somewhere past 15...16 1/2, I think. Ancient for a Weimaraner -- they rarely live even to 15. He had been in poor health. He was tired. But he, along with his housemate Goonie, was a loving part of our lives for almost fifteen years. We will miss him so much.
Sleep now, Mama's baby puppy. We love you.
In a few days, it will be better. Really.
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