This morning I said so long to my old girl Lizzie, Elizabeta, the fawn, the dowager princess. I held her in my arms and told her I love her. Dr Sandy gave her a shot and Lizzie drifted off without too much fuss. I was a wreck, of course, and still am.
Lizzie was my foster-failure. She came from the wrong side of the tracks; had had an unhappy life of loneliness and neglect, chained to a stump somewhere. I was supposed to rehabilitate her so that someone would adopt her permanently. It never worked out. Lizzie played me like a violin and I couldn’t bear for her to think I didn’t want her to be mine forever.
Lizzie was already an old girl when I met her. Still, she pranced like a Lipizzaner back then. She loved to walk in the woods as much as Roxie & Gus, but at her own pace. She led a pampered life during the time we had—she enjoyed her chow served always with gravy; a third of an omelette to supplement breakfast; prime rib bones gifted by her Aunt Marian; the knowledge that she’d be safe, warm, valued and cherished no matter what. Age eventually claimed her. The past few months she became blind, deaf and demented. Her back legs betrayed her and she could hardly walk, let alone prance. I held onto her longer than I should have.
Lizzie’s at peace now. I know she waits for me and I’ll see her again someday. Until then—sweet dreams, my good old girl. I love you.
Elizabeta
2006 – January 22, 2022
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