I'm losing my best friend- Rhonda girl is in some kennel at the vets-she's alone.

I have her leash and her favorite toy, but not her.

I've been looking for her everywhere. In the morning, I have to keep on reminding myself that although it's time for our walk, she's not with me. The feeling I have is empty-I want to say emptier than empty, but I guess that would put me in the realm of the oxymoron. There's our field, there's her favorite spots on the grass, but there's no Rhonda.

Wednesday morning, she suddenly developed a degeneration in her balance and lost the ability to stand (as a result of losing all sense of balance). Her eyes also began an involuntary tic, I guess from her trying to right herself. I took her to the hospital as I could do nothing for her. The vet recommended I leave her there to be treated -recovery was possible. Her prognosis: 50% chance of a recovery (possibly partial, possibly total). Not so hot for a 16 year old dog. My dog.

This dog has been by my side whenever she could help it and whenever I could help it. Guess that she has always loved me-I've certainly always loved her. In her younger days, she was pretty good with a frisbee-she'd want to go at it for hours, only stopping when I got tired.

When we first heard about her, we visited her previous owner, an elderly woman who had just had double knee surgery. Six month old "Princess" barked at me the minute I walked in the door. She would not come to me- she was too busy guarding her family. We agreed on the deal-I'd take the dog, a Shepherd/something mix-but in a few days-I wanted to bring her home at exactly the same time as the other dog we adopted, Delilah.

When we were putting Princess in the car, we discovered who her real owner was: the 13 year-old boy who was crying at losing her. I felt bad, real bad, but I also knew that if we didn't adopt her, Grandma would find another taker and quickly. On the way home, she laid peacefully on Cara's lap, the wee thing that she was when younger.

She has a tiny spot of white on one ear (and one ear only) and a small tuft of white coming out of her otherwise bear-black coat. Her muzzle has now turned mostly grey and white. Her head is still soft and beautiful. She was always bit stand-offish to anyone outside the family: the Shepherd in her, I guess-the one-owner-dog thing.

Today, we go to the vet to determine her fate. I'm not optimistic-the rest of her life can't be spent lying on her side. Other dogs I've had made this awful decision so much easier. Here I hope for the strength to be able to make the right choice for Rhonda. I only wish that I could put it off and think that it matters not-that we'll be reunited some day to go on yet more adventures. But I'm not a big beleiver in the afterlife.

John Lennon comes ringing back into my head with "Nobody told me there'd be days like this".