My dads birthday is on the 25th of November. My Mom pointed out to me that my dads birthday is easy to remember: Born on the 25th of November 1952 the whole thing looks like this: 25/11/52 and can be mirrored in the middle. :)
So on Monday i called him to say Happy Birthday. I knew something was wrong. The dog had to be put down. Dad almost cried on the phone and told me how he buried her in the snow covered garden the night before his birthday and that he had not thought about it until his wife Andrea came to congratulate him on his birthday.
He explained that he had always wanted a dog after he adopted Gypsy, the other Munsterlander whom he came across in a "friends" house , who gave the dog marijuana to eat for entertainment purposes. Dad had decided to buy a Munsterlander when he had found a place to settle down and feel good about. I remember visiting my dad on a weekend and he came home in the car with a tiny puppy, so cute.
The way Papa talked about the family life he lived with us was pretty much the first time that I didn't feel like we were a nuisance to him. He painted a happy family life picture. I never thought about it that way. Surprising.
I am glad Maira did not have to fight through the next winter like she did the last two. No food would stay down, or be digested like usual. She was a fighter, clearly, but obviously it was the right decission to have her put to sleep. I know my dad would never have done it if there was a hope that she was gonna be fine until she dies naturally.
Dad said: She died like she lived, tenderly, calm... I will remember her as a nutcase with incredibly soft fur and a kind , clever mind.
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