My dearest Scotty,

I am sorry.

I wish with all my heart that you had gently died in your sleep one night after a life overfull.

I feel like I betrayed you, that I cut your life thread too short and that tomorrow, maybe, you would have been back to your old self.  Ears perked, eyes gleaming with eager curiosity, bounding after too-quick squirrels.

But cancer is not that kind.  God and I haven’t spoken for years and all my supplications were met by silence.  What was I to do?

Good boy.  I miss you.

I love you.