Pictured above is Sweet Sadie. We said goodbye to her yesterday.

In September 2010, my son and I found her at the Humane Society. She was two. She was thin and sad, anxious about getting the car with strangers, worried about being in our apartment.

But soon she settled in, befriended our other dog, Porter, and looked healthy and bright-eyed. She was afraid of storms and vacuums and baths. She loved tug-of-war and chasing squirrels. She loved sitting on the patio in the sunlight and watching the world. She also loved stealing food left too close to the edge of the kitchen counter. She rarely lost her cool.

Not only had her hips given out and her vision and hearing deteriorated, but tumors appeared in her mouth. They were aggressive. Pain medication might help for a few weeks.

It’s hard to let go. I knew this was coming. The last few months made it clear as her legs gave out and her appetite waned. How do you know it’s time? When do the pleasures of life–finding new scents in the grass, receiving a treat, basking in the sun–become outweighed by pain and confusion?

We have other dogs. They don’t know what’s happened, but they know something has happened. Sadie isn’t there. Her food bowl is gone. Her cushion by the window is empty.

She was my Sweet SaySay. My Sadie Girl. Sadiekins. She will be missed.