Rufus

It occurs to me that it was right about this time 5 years ago that my dawg, Rufus, had to be put to sleep.

This dog had been my side kick, best bud, and confidante for almost 14 years. He moved eight times with me. He saw me through the first marriage-for-a-minute-by-mistake. He cuddled me when my brother died.

This dog slept on my bed every night. Actually let me rephrase that - he let me have some space on his bed every night.

I left for a trip to Cuba with 11 of my friends on May 1, 2000, leaving a guy that I worked with in charge of my house, my car and my dawg. The vet, whom I would trust with my life (and a fellow infertile/miscarrier, oddly enough), says that she thinks he hung on until he knew I was gone ... and then allowed himself to go. They tried to keep him alive for me until I got back, but in the end she made the decision herself.

She took him into the room, sat on the table with his head in her lap, and told him how much I loved him. She held him while he went.

And when I returned late on a Saturday night, there were strict instructions for me to call her at her cottage ... which I did ... and she cried on the other end of the phone. She had to say goodbye to him for me.

And two years later, we were comforting each other through miscarriages.

Funny funny world.