A couple of days ago, Piri didn't have such a good day.
He woke up and paced around at 4 am and I realized he was heaving, trying to throw up.
I ran and grabbed a wee wee pad to catch his vomit.
I have gotten quite good at doing this since his cancer diagnosis.
If running and grabbing wee wee pads to catch your pet's vomit was an Olympic sport, I might really have a shot at winning the gold medal.
The following day and a half Piri didn't eat and had trouble drinking water.
We couldn't give him sub-q fluids or any of his other oral medications.
Things didn't look too good.
It was sad and gloomy in our house other than two very cheerful cockapoo guests who brought some sunshine to our day.
I saw Piri sleeping in his bed, his body so thin from old age and kidney disease and cancer.
This is not the Piri I remember, but in the distant future, I will always remember all of Piri, from when he was a rambunctious puppy to even now. Old and sick.
Sometimes there are days when I can't bear the thought of not having Piri in my life.
It's a painful feeling I can't quite describe.
But sometimes there are also days when everything is clear and I have this unexplained courage to be able to say good-bye, should that day ever come.
I have no regrets and death doesn't seem so scary.
It's probably one of the most oddest feeling I have ever felt.
When the feeling first overcame me, I almost felt bad. Bad that maybe Piri would take it the wrong way.
But still, most days I don't think I am ready or know how to be ready.
People tell me I will know. That Piri will guide me and tell me.
What if I miss his signs?
What if I don't know.