When my little dog Dan died in April, I plunged into the deepest grief I have ever known. It was so raw, so painful, I couldn’t stop crying. It wasn’t even sudden – he was nearly 16 and had been going downhill for a year: I knew the end was in sight.
Yet he defied all the odds and enjoyed his walks (albeit at a glacial pace) and his treats. The vet had said he was doing great, given his many issues (loss of sight and hearing, a heart murmur and a corneal ulcer in one eye, to name a few).
Until
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