by Melanie Vejdani
Snappy was almost 12 when it happened. He had become a very picky eater in the past few months, which was very unlike him. That should have been the first red flag that something was seriously wrong with him. He loved food before and would eat anything that stood still long enough. I had no idea, though, until my mom came home from a vet visit and told he had cancer.
I knew there was no way to save him. I knew he was old and it was better for him not to suffer. But I thought it would be wrong to just let him die without getting mad at anyone - him, the cancer, God for letting this happen.
The next day came before I knew it, and with it Snappy's time finally ran out. The hardest thing I've ever done is saying goodbye to him, knowing that I would never see him again. He was lying on the couch with pain in his eyes, but it also seemed like he somehow knew that this was the final goodbye. I hugged him and told him I loved him, but I had to go. Walking away from that couch and looking back one last time took all the strength I had. I wanted to run back up the stairs and stay with him, but I knew he had to go and I didn't want to be there when they put my pet, my puppy dog full of life, to sleep.