We have a little yellow dog, a little white dog, both called Wangwang. To make a difference, the little yellow dog is called Wong, the little white dog is called White. I give them milk, they're puffy, they're delicious. The milk is finished, each licking each other's mouth and licking the milk on the side of his mouth.
As if they were brothers, one by one. Little Huang is happy, full of energy, jumping around all day long and growing fast, and in a few days it's one head higher than Little White. Little White Wans, slow and smooth.
But it's not gonna happen. After about a few months, Huang has had a strange illness, first of all, of losing his mind, aging more than a day, then having difficulty eating and sleeping. Take him to the doctor, who says he's got a canine fever. Doctors recommended euthanasia.
I was at work that day, and my son took him to see him. My son called to give me the doctor's opinion. I said take it back first. I think that if there is a ray of hope, we have to work harder. The doctor knew there was another dog in our house and warned that quarantine would otherwise be easily contagious. The doctor also stated that Xiao Baiwang needed three shots, once a week. We did it.
However, Xiao Baiwang is not willing to be isolated in any way. It looks at the pain of the little yellow twilight, and must take it to it, kiss it with its mouth from time to time and bite its ears gently. Oh, for love's sake, you dog! However, Huang's illness is worse than a day. We've been looking everywhere. The doctor's conclusion is the same: It's not a cure, it's going to die in great pain.
Little yellow bones are thin, only a little milk and broth. It starts shaking, sitting down. He lays down for a few minutes, in pain, struggling to get up, standing up, shaking his limbs, not holding up his two or two remaining bones, lying down and standing up again.
Looks like it's really gone. The next day, it started to spit. It can't stand up, twitch. Its desperate eyes look at me, pathetic. My wife and my children decided to send it to the hospital for injection and to put it to rest. The wife washed her face, washed her feet, combed her hair with a comb. I made a few digital photos for it, got a travel kit and a red T-shirt. The son hugged White Wang, who had to give another shot.
Our family took Wong Wang to the pet hospital. The doctor placed Huang on a stage, very strangely, at a time when he stood firmly. We touched it so that it could lie down and it would not lie down. Maybe he knew death was coming? Maybe it stays alive and has to struggle last?
The doctor shot it in the back. When the needle went in, it turned its head and looked at me. The unforgettable eye, full of attachment to the master, is the eye that pierces the heart of man. Slowly, slowly, it softens down, it softens down for less than ten seconds, and it seems to lie down without pain. However, it had eyes open, its tongue poked outside its mouth and pulled down. And We put our tongue in its mouth, gently, and drew its eyes, and closed it.
Little Huang fell asleep. When it was warm and soft, I put it in my travel bag. All of this may have been seen by White. We buried Little Wong under a white jade tree.
Back at home, Whitey lost his little yellow, he was bored, he fell aside and he looked miserable. No barking, no eating -- it doesn't eat for two days! Then I bought a little yellow dog to accompany White Wang, which slowly freed him from the pain of losing his partner.