I combed my fingers through her soft fur,
her body still warm to my touch
and I could see her belly
moved no longer,
that pinkness
gone
from her nose, too.

Before, as she lay with her head up,
her panting and sniffing the air
I peered into her deep eyes--
nearly closed shut
"Sylvia...
Do you want to keep fighting?
Do you want to keep going?"
Her eyes were nearly shut,
her breath slight
a pocket of drool hesitated on her lip's edge.
She didn't want to say, "goodbye"
and though I needed her to tell me it was time
her suffering, her gaze toward another, far off place
told me she was on her way.
She could not speak, the illness had bit her tongue
Sylvia,
like she had always done,
lived and relished the good parts.
In hardships large and small,
always Sylvia
Found
 a good sniff
a comfortable spot to rest
a sliver of sun
a gentle breeze.

Earlier, she Found me--
a broken, wounded
and strange bird--
then nudged up next to me,
loved me,
Befriended me
and never left my side.
She showed me the best sniffs
buried amongst all the rubble,
dug up happiness
and dropped it at my feet.
She followed me through tough, uphill climbs,
through thick brush
and down winding narrow trails
to mountainous heights
and to the break of crashing waves
at the very end of this world.