25 days ago, my border collie Slick came to the end of his song.  It’s a snowy day here in Boulder, and I am going through images on my computer.  So many pictures of my horse include Slick somewhere in the background.  This week I’ve been finding myself talking to him in the back seat of my car.  He’s not there.
When I’m riding, I look around for him.  He’s not there.  Sometimes I make a mental note of it, and sometimes the pain and grief take my breath away.

This photo is of Skigh being ponied off my car, and Slick tagging along as he always did.

I have a collection of images that look like this one–a horse photo with a border collie photobomb.

Over a period of a few weeks, Slick got pretty sick pretty fast.  Everything pointed to a brain tumor, and not a single diagnostic test was performed. Slick was 12, and he’d had a great run.  I worked with a couple of great vets who helped me put him on CBD (cannabis oil), prednisone, and colloidal gold.  His last weeks were happy and peaceful, and on his last morning, we went for a short walk in the sunshine.
Knowing details about what made Slick ill, and putting him through diagnostic tests, wouldn’t have changed a thing.  Even knowing that, I had to fight the urge to “do something”.  I’m glad I was able to let his need for safety and peace guide my actions.
I’ll always be grateful for all the friends who turned up to walk with us at the end.  And, thanks, Slick, for helping me be a better person.

Keen-Eye Slick    2005-2017

Showing 3 comments
  • Cheryl
    Reply

    Ah Peggy, tears when I read this and see pics of the coolest dog ever. I’m coming to grips with saying goodbye to Kiska, she’s not well today….. I’m so glad I knew Slick. Friends listen and I appreciate your ear!

  • Auntysocial
    Reply

    Goodnight and God bless Slick 🙂

  • Auntysocial
    Reply

    Forgot to add link to my little friend “Cassi” the Springer Spaniel I loved and lost last year following a period of illness that ended when she collapsed at home for the second time in as many weeks.
    I knew the second she collapsed we’d reached the end of the road and my friendship with Cass brought to a cruel and premature end so wrapped her up in the old Disney Princess duvet cover my daughter had as a kid, scooped her up and carried her to the car as my daughter rang ahead to tell the vet we were on the way.
    No more treatment, inpatient care and IV fluids and antibiotics and absolutely no surgery. I could see it the week or so before she died and remarked to my husband she wasn’t going to kick this and rally round. Poor lass was weary, out of fight and ready to go so half an hour after I ran into the surgery with her in my arms she was helped to drop off peacefully with me there telling her to go find us a good spot for walking and picking apples and waiting for everyone else to catch up later.
    The decision to let our best friends go is possibly hardest things we ever face but we do it for them and owe them that kindness one last time.
    This video was taken the day before Cass died with her and my other dog (Border Collie) having always liked to chill out and sprawl and fall asleep to either I or my daughter playing the piano. When I found it a few months after she died it made me sad to see her restless and twitching and her breathing not free or flowing naturally.
    And then as ever our very own village idiot appears and turned my face and throat from feeling scratchy into a belly-laugh because no matter what we have the best friends in dogs.
    It hurts like hell but it won’t hurt so badly and for too long.
    https://youtu.be/mh3fAB1nJcg

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