I laid in my V-berth bunk this morning thinking about playing ball with Abby. She was our little heinz-57 terrier, multi breed, born on the streets of Baltimore, family pet of 12 years. Yesterday morning we delayed our departure because we had to finally give it up and take Abby in to have her put down. She was suffering from liver problems, pancreas problems, and she had become senile. She would get lost in the kitchen and just stand in one place and shiver. Around 4:00 AM yesterday morning she fell down the steps. No broken bones this time. Thinking she wanted to go out, I carried her outside and stood her up in the yard - she walked over to the wooded area and got tangled up in the briars. She used to own those woods. Now she couldn't find her way around the vines. She stayed frightened and frozen much of the time, picking a spot to stand and shake. So we decided it was time. I laid awake this morning remembering playing ball with her for hours, walking through the woods, our every-morning and every-evening routine, and yes our overnight sailing trips where she would sleep on her pillow on the floor next to our bunk. Around mid-day, after we had buried her, we were walking out of the garage to board Senara for final departure. Glancing around the garage my eyes landed on her yellow doggie life jacket. It was a tough morning.
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