After a lifetime of always...

looking on the bright side,

and in the main succeeding,

I've hit a sodding great rock face.

My face is flattened, my head is pounding;

not unlike Jerry in the Tom and Jerry

cartoons where he falls back...

flat, squashed, squished.

The reason is...

Lettice.

She is coming to the end of her days;

thin, eating, but sometimes bringing it

all back up again.

This morning taking her out for her little stroll,

we were slower than usual. 

She has taken to sitting out in the utility room,

where as the weather changes, you have to ask yourself...

'Is this a good idea?'

This old dog that everyone looks at with

pity when out walking, doesn't seem so bad

when back at home.

Last night I looked up attaxia, and the right time

to euthanise your elderly dog.

With head in hands and tears ready to fall, 

the expression that jumped out of the page was

'It is better to be a week early, than a day late!'

I've always said I would do the right thing by her

and I will.  But how blooming hard that is to

implement.

People say she will tell you.

I just don't want to leave it until she cries

out trying to tell me.