Moondog’s cancer has taken over—he can barely stand. He trembles and cries out from pain. It’s time to put him out of his misery, but we are devastated. Karen shakes and weeps. The doctor has come here to do it at home. As the vet injects Moondog with something that puts him into a deep sleep, tears come from me, too. His breathing is labored. A second injection, and there are no more breaths. The vet sits with us awhile and then she leaves. Karen and I struggle to carry a blanket with Moondog’s heavy body on it to a hole we dug under a redwood tree in the garden, where we bury him.
