In Reference to: The Story of Precious

I too know that awful pain of saying it's time.

My little Black Manx, Blossom, had come into my life on Mothers Day 1969, I was pregnant with my first child, and at first when I saw her lack of a tail thought that her Momma Wendy had accidentally bitten her tail off. I was mistaken because her brother was also with out a tail.

She was 18 years old when some one shot her with a B.B. gun and it had gotten infected then infested. She tried so hard for about a week at Dr. Mike's, but then it was all too much for her. I cried in Dr. Mike's arms for an hour. Somehow I made it home, I don't remember even driving. Just crying. It was almost as bad as when my first child passed at the age of 2.

You see dying isn't as hard as it is surviving; there's someone waiting for us when we come to the end of our road.
 

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