We just had to put our dog down last Thursday. The poor girl has been having trouble walking, her appetite has been fading, and she started having seizures last Monday. (We only realized she had had a seizure Monday after she had another one early Thursday afternoon, and we noticed her condition afterward was identical to what we had found her in when we came downstairs Monday night.) The vet, who was very sympathetic to our situation, believes Sandy had a brain tumor.
Losing Sandy has been a lot harder on Evangeline than I had expected. Yesterday, on the Fourth of July, we went out into the back yard, and she just quietly walked up to where we had buried Sandy, and stood there. Today she said she heard a dog snuffle here in the house, and that means that Sandy must be alive again.
We've talked a couple times now about death, and I've assured her that Sandy will be raised to life on the Last Day and will join us in heaven, but it still stinks to see her torn up over her dog's death. (Chances are we're going to get a new dog by her birthday in October, but we want to make sure she has time to get over Sandy's death first.)