February 6th, Saturday night, on my way to bed, I passed Murphy, our lab-cross, in the hallway. I climbed the first flight of stairs to our bedroom and in the near darkness, a dog flew passed me. Rounding the winding staircase, I looked up and watched as a white tail wagged in front of the bedroom door. I was totally confused. Murphy doesn't have a white tail. I looked down the stairs and looked back-up - no tail, no dog.
I called Murphy; heard her coming behind me. I stopped, stunned.
The first dog up the stairs? Gypsy!
He had died the night before. Months ago, when he was able-bodied, he would run ahead and wait at the door to go to bed. He hadn't been up-stairs since early October.
That first February week began auspiciously. For the first time in several months, Gypsy was nearly able to get up on his own. He begged for treats and played with his toys. That was Monday. But quickly he grew weak and by Friday, he was failing and after four months of near immobility due to arthritis his heart gave-up. He died as I was petting him.
I didn't know how to announce his passing. He is already missed by our friends and staff and by guests returning to the inn.
