Two weeks ago on a particularly warm day for March, Tara and Mercury ventured down to the bottom of the hillside and spent the afternoon sunning. That evening Tara did not return at dinnertime and the next day I looked down to check on Tara and I thought she was dead. I walked the bottom of the hill and realized she was just once again sleeping very soundly. However, when she awoke I saw that her balance was off and she was too weak to climb the hill. Her breathing was exaggerated and I felt she was going to die that day.

Bart and I spent that afternoon by her side and she was so sweet to us, purring and happy for our attention. We weren't sure what she had, whether it was terminal pathology, or something that could be cured with medicine. And even if it could be fixed, should we put her through sedation and testing and invasive treatments so that she could recover only to pass away from something else? I offered her a piece of chicken and a bowl of water and she masticated the leg quarter. Slowly, over about a 45-minute period she consumed the meat. And she drank the water.

As we cried and discussed our options - doctor her up, leave her alone, call a vet to put her to sleep; her mood changed and she became grumpy at us. She decided for us. And so I brought down a blanket hoping she would lay under it, and we said our goodbyes and left her that evening expecting her to pass away in the cold of the night.

The next morning I approached to see her alive with her head up. I brought her more water and chicken necks and she stood and slowly began to walk towards me to drink and eat. I lead her up the hill and she followed me back to the enclosure and lay down with Mercury. That evening I offered her more food and she slowly consumed a very small portion, and did so the next day as well. But then she lost all interest in food and I knew this was the end. 

We had made the decision not to put her through the stress of sedation and testing and sub-Q fluids and shots of antibiotics, we would let her pass away naturally with Mercury by her side. But after a few days of fasting our feelings changed. It was time to call a vet and release her from her suffering.  God was taking her to another place, and this was an appropriate time to be merciful. I don't know if she would have died that night, or in a week, but her body was old and her lungs were failing. It was time for her to die.

She didn't protest when I injected a sedative, and for that I am so grateful. Then she went peacefully at the hands of our veterinarian. Later on, I opened the slide gate for Mercury to visit her and he did. Sniffing all over her body, he knew she was no longer alive. The next day Bart dug a deep grave and we burred her at the bottom of her hillside, in a sunny clearing.


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