My Heart is Breaking

My sweet, sweet dog, whom I've had since she was this big (at ten weeks old)


and whose favorite thing to do is lounge around like a big goof in the sun (followed by her other favorite thing, which is lounge around like a big goof tucked under some covers, which she can totally do for herself)


the first and only dog I've ever had, and the one who saw me through a move, a wedding (well, she ditched on the wedding, but she came back a week later), put up with my pregnant laziness (and her consequent lack of walks), the one who mutely licks my face when I'm sad, curls up on my feet when I'm cold, and has more than once in the last nine years let me use her for a pillow when I needed comforting,

that sweet dog is not well. Her back legs are failing her, and the steriods aren't helping enough, and the next step in treatment is unthinkably expensive.

I don't know what to do except cry.