Gone to rest...

Sahsa, the Dog Who Will Chew Anything, is dead.

My greatest fear, when she would disappear as she did yesterday, was that she would have one of her epileptic fits "in public," so to speak, and that some well-meaning, or scared, or malicious person would put her down instead of calling a vet. But somehow, Sasha never had fits when she wandered, and although she might end up at someone's house a few miles down the road, in the end, she would always come home. At least, that was true until yesterday.

What burns me is that I found her about 40 yards from the house, and it was Galina that brought my attention to "something yellow" but indistinct this morning that you could see from the porch. I got dressed and investigated, and found Sasha.

I buried her in the spot that I'd considered for Max, back at the time we moved into the house, and before we moved to Houston, where Max died. It's a spot along the high end of our property on the eastern side of the house, just before the terrain drops down toward Pagosa Boulevard. From this spot, the irrational part of my brain tells me, Sasha will be able to look out over the San Juan mountains, forever.

I'm going to miss that dog.

Cheers...