Back from the vet.

[hermeticdog]

Prognosis: Aggressive fibrosarcoma.

Tango is dying.

And, in a way, so is a part of my soul.

I can count all the times on one hand I've ever allowed myself to cry, and right now I'm crying so hard I can barely breathe.

Too soon. Too fucking soon.

Comments

[orthaevelve.livejournal.com]

Bast's blessings on you and on him. Since I cannot be there to sing it in person for you (but I will next time I visit), I will type out the Herald's Lament for you. It may be written for people, but familiars and animal companions count just as much and deserve it too. If you like, when I go to Samhain up at Four Quarters this year, I will call his name into the circle when we honor the spirits. Or you can come with me too, you would be welcmoe.

The Herald's Lament, by Mercedes Lackey

A hand to help along the road, a laugh to lighten any load,
A place to bring a burdened heart, or ease the pain of sorrow's dart.
Who willing shares in joy or tears, and helps to ease the darkest fears,
Or my soul like his own defends, and all because he was my friend.

No grave can hold so free a soul, I feel him in the frisking foal,
I hear him laugh upon the breeze, that stirs the very tops of trees.
He soars with falcons on the wing, he is the song that night birds sing,
Death would never dare him captive keep, he lies not there, he does not sleep.

He was just here and now is gone, and I in silence linger on.
How bleak the future now has grown, since I must face it all alone,
My road is weary, dark and steep, and it is for myself I weep.