Goodbyes are never long enough.

People always say you'll know,
and now, I understand.
Waiting would have been selfish,
even a difference of a few hours
would have been too much.

Last night, everything became harder -
sleeping, breathing,
crying out loud enough that
we couldn't possibly mistake it
for anything other than suffering.
He could barely walk,
Cushing's disease had taken his muscle
his strength and desire to move.

We brought him into the clinic
when their office doors opened,
a room prepared for us
with tissues and memorial ideas,
but it was too late.

He died in my arms
as I held him close in that
warm Pikachu blanket.
His head lolled and I knew.
I knew his heart was giving
out as his body let go
and everything failed him.
He started shaking
and my father tried to call
for the doctor to hurry,
but the spirit left his eyes.
I couldn't even carry him home
so they placed him in a
cardboard box and I cried at
how wrong that seemed.

It's only been two hours...
but I miss you already, Jack.

Now, I have to return to a
house with only one dog,
reminded of how lonely life will be
(for the both of us).