The End is Nigh

I took Zoe to the veterinarian the other day for her semi-annual geriatric check-up. The doctor said that Zoe had a heart murmur and the lumps, which we had assumed were fatty deposits and arthritis inflammation, were in fact tumours. She said that she could biopsy them but really that she could predict the result. I told her that we had long ago decided that we would put darling Zoe through no further invasive procedure, even if it was merely diagnostic. The point is that even if she is riddled with cancerous tumours, I don't want to know. It won't affect how we treat her or what joy she brings to us all. My only concern is that she live her remaining days blissfully. Smelling the sunshine. Chasing butterflies. Grumbling irritably at the younger dog--as is the prerogative of the elderly. Pointing in beautiful position at whatever forest creatures pass behind our fence. Kissing us gently with her little 'corn-on-the-cob' nibbles that she gives to keep us and herself clean. I have increased her pain medication and she seems to be coping well. Somedays she falls or doesn't quite make an attempted jump. Her embarrassment is tangible. I see her looking at me, with that one whisker that never goes in the right direction, as if to say that it must have been a mistake and surely that it couldn't have been her fault that she fell. She's proud, my girl. My first girl, I call her. I love her so much. Zoe has brought me so much joy, comfort, and compassion. How could I repay that with a selfish desire to prolong her discomfort? I hope that she chooses her own time to die, when she's ready and when she knows that we will be okay.