Dutch is dying. Just writing those words and my eyes flood with tears. Yes, I've known this was the expected result, but Dutch being Dutch, he's exceeded expectations so I think I must have convinced myself he was willing himself to get better; that love and the sheer force of my own will for him to live was repairing the damage done to his giant heart. But that's not how this works. And in my better moments, I know that.

So here we are, one day shy of four months from his original diagnosis; when Vet said, "Let's just see if we can get him through the weekend". Almost four months closer to his 9th birthday--which in Saint Bernard time is pretty amazing on its own. Add to it a bout with cancer and two accompanying surgeries, degenerative joint disease, and congestive heart failure, well you see why I think he's amazing. Because he is.

Yesterday, Friday was awful. I was home from work with the stomach flu--or was it intuition for his end--and alone in the house. Just me and Dutch. He was resting from the heat in his dojo--the kitchen with a strong AC vent and ceiling fan--but he was breathing heavy. Beyond heavy. And then he began vomiting. Which is like a person vomiting, because he's person size. I had an old, confused, scared person vommiting in my kitchen. Which really wasn't vomit per se,it was bile and air because he had nothing in his stomach,not even water. We managed to get outside where he sought refuge in the grass. I sat with him stroking his head, and cried. Always with the crying. We talked of our sadness, of our fears in parting, of our love, and joy in the time we had. We agreed that it wasn't near enough time to do everything we wanted, but the time it was was good. We talked about the Rainbow Bridge and all the fun he would have there, but how it would be better when he and Man and I were reunited because he has a very low tolerance for other animals. I laughed, he snorted. We agreed I was a mess without him, but would have to be strong for Man, but really more for myself because we both know when I get sad I go deep inside, and then emerge by doing something really stupid. "There's no place for that now, Woman". You're right, Dutch. You're right.

The afternoon languished on. The vomit, crying, petting cycle languished on also. Man found us on an outside bed during one of the petting phases. Always the stoic, he got to the point,"you need to call your dad. He'll want to say goodbye". "Always the stoic, Woman" Dutch whispered just to me.

Dad and I are optimists. So while the stoic Man went inside we contemplated the possibility that this too would pass. And then Dutch, without getting up, vommited between his arms. I jumped in quickly with a nearby towel, which he simply laid his big, heavy head on. On top of his own vomit. Our eternal sunshine went to rest behind nearby clouds. Dad sat looking at his own weathered hands. "Nobody likes to get old, Boy. But we all do. That's the constant." So as Dutch lay on his vomit pillow and my dad mulled over his own mortality,I realized I wouldn't have either for much longer. "Grandpa Walt can visit me at the Rainbow Bridge, can't he Woman?"

"Of course he can, pup. And he will."

"Okay, Woman. Then it won't be so bad waiting for you."