Choose Death

When I returned from Boston, my little white dog was much sicker. It's the lungs. There's a constant honking gasp, except when he's sleeping. The doctors said this would happen, they just didn't say when. Despite the constant meds and steady love, there comes a time when the animal can't breathe—and nothing medical can be done, other than the merciful horrible.

So today is the day. I feared it on the afternoon I came home and I knew it for sure last night. Where there is life t...