Diamond. D-dog. Diva.
She came into our lives by way of our town's shelter. My daughter, an employee at the shelter, spotted her when she was surrendered by her previous parents and was determined to bring her home. Good thing, because Diamond's food aggression had her labeled "un-adoptable" and slated for termination. Her arrival came after Pete's, which rankled me just a wee bit.
Maybe more than a wee bit, to be honest, at the time.
But, like my daughter, Diamond had a way of working herself into your heart and good graces. Seeking forgiveness over permission every step of the way. She, the small dog who enjoyed romps in snow piled higher than her head, approached the lake (& lagoons & rivers) with trepidation, but ultimately allowed herself a taste of pleasure, who relished food, even that designed and meant for the cats, who took pure and distinct pleasure in show said cats who in fact, was boss . . . she, is no longer with us.
Diamond developed issues beyond the diabetes and these past few days has been so not her usual self. It has been beyond difficult to watch her decline. It has been beyond difficult to watch daughter struggle with the choice that had to be made, not for us, but for Diamond; her care and comfort trumping our not wanting to be without her presence.
Watching my daughter say goodbye to her very first pet, a pet she's craved to have since she was five years old, a pet who was with us just a bit over 5 years, but who was about to celebrate her eleventh year, a pet who has taught my daughter so much about . . . well, life, who has been the single most vital and constant presence in her life these past five years . . . watching her raw sadness, her maturity, her coming to terms. . . has been, in a word, unimaginable.
Leaves me breathless. That, and her thanking me for being strong, so she can be strong. Breathless. And in tears.
Rest In Peace, dear Diamond. You will live forever in our hearts and memories.