Now I am like the Fisherman’s Wife: I want more. And not just another summer, or two or three or four. I want Apollo to live as long as I do. Anything less is unfair. And why, in the end, that inevitable trip to the vet? Why can’t he die at home, in his sleep, peacefully, like a good dog deserves? Why, having saved him, must I now watch him suffer—suffer and die—and then be left alone, without him?
