This morning whilst at work, I received a phone call from my mum telling me that the family dog Danny had died. Although it wasn’t a surprised that he had died, I think all members of the family were a lot more upset at him dying than we all thought we would be.
A good few years previous, Danny had started showing signs of illness but had always miraculously managed to come out the other side. Recently his health had been on a steady level but he was tired a lot and would love to wee on the kitchen floor during the night.
This morning Danny was very shaky and frail. Whilst on his walk he collapsed so heavily that his head hit a parked car. Coming into the house he was not able to stay on his feet, so my parents put him in the car and took him to the vets. Upon arrival the vet knew pretty instantly that Danny had suffered from a stroke and the only real option for my parents was to put him down.
My parents sucked it in and decided putting him down was the best option.
Danny lived to the ripe old age of 15 and was one of the most food orientated dogs you would ever meet, it will be weird to be in the house without him trying to snaffle some food.
At 3am on Monday morning, Katie and her parents departed for Gran Canaria. It’s a new experience for me being so far away from Katie, especially as the biggest distance we used to be from each other in the past was say 8 miles, when we both lived with our parents and we had to drive to each other’s houses.
