Virgil, my Basset Hound was 9 years of age,

When through his strong body a fever did rage.

I was told he’d not make it even through the night,

Death was now imminent, his end was in sight.

I rushed home from vacation on my vet’s urgent call,

Climbed into his kennel where I remained with him all

Through the night as he hung on to life,

His breathing quite shallow, his body in strife.

In the following four weeks, he struggled to endure;

I can hardly remember, it now seems like a blur.

Transfusions, forced feedings, and medicines galore,

My living room a triage and I wished I had more.

With a wag of his tail, I knew he would strive

To brave this endeavor and for me stay alive.

Hundreds of well wishers, much love, and more prayers

Poured in from Daily Droolers as if he was theirs.

With blood vessels collapsing, vital organs shutting down,

I then felt it might be to the bridge he was bound.

Though the vets tried their best; his time had now come,

But tearfully I then knew that he had to come home

To spend one more night, his love there to share,

He’d return in the morning and he would die there.

He was carried inside, made comfortable as could be,

We’d cook one more steak as a fond memory.