This week while I was visiting Audrey and Erica in D.C. for spring break, Pashka's health took a turn for the worst. Already nearing 17 years, blind, deaf, fairly incontinent and wracked with arthritis in her spine, she finally had to be carried outside, set down and picked up again to be taken back into the house. Throughout all of this advancement into dog antiquity she maintained her sweet spirit, became super vigilant of other dogs approaching her apartment, loved being scratched behind her ears or given a belly rub which always resulted in her sticking her tongue out to kiss the hand that touched her. I said my goodbye's to her the night before I left for the airport--reminding her that she had been a truly faithful friend and companion and that I loved her with all my heart. While I was away, Dave reluctantly took her to the vet on Wednesday and stayed with her until he knew she was off and running. This was the dog who was never allowed off a leash because huskies have to run. I am pretty sure she is pulling a sled somewhere in deep, powdery snow, ears back, slitty eyed and smiling. She died on the last day of winter.
I miss her terribly and hope I will eventually stop looking for her around the house. Dogs leave so little behind in material possessions--their collar, leash, bed and a couple of dishes. I can't believe she is gone.
The first photo above is the last I took of her, a week or so ago, when she followed me into the living room and found a lovely spot of sun to dream in.