gihle, maybe a year later

Gihli ("dog", in Cherokee, my wife said) came to the end of the road about a year ago, died of a twisted gut, at age 13 or so. Not the shiniest animal one would ever know (nor am I) but always hoping to please, if it didn't require much insight. A hound, a "mountain cur", or maybe a "fyce dog", who knows, a stray who arrived on our doorstep in 1993, a few weeks after we fetched up here in the Whitewater Valley. Half or more starved, eyes a little popped; he got fed and was sleeping on the doormat the next morning and never showed an inclination to leave since. Sick for some days last fall, not looking good, and I sat in the frosted grass with him for a while the night before, and took him to the vet on Saturday morning. The vet offered no good hope as his blood pressure was all but gone. I wanted to just take him home, but they told me that would be inhumane, so I let them put the final needle in -- hardly able to choke out my assent. The vet was good, never even sent me a bill-- I owe her a note.