I went out with Myy at 3PM. She looked OK, old and frail, as she had now for some time now. After all, she was 15 and a half. I started making dinner around 5.30. I noticed she was laying on the kitchen carpet, which she never does. Next thing I notice, Myy is standing next to me, barely standing up. Her legs are giving up and she looks so sad.
Sari takes her to the sofa. She is bleeding. We drive her to the Pieneläinklinikka, where a nurse makes a routine check. She calls a vet, who examines Myy more thoroughly.
There is only one possible choice.
We miss you horribly.
Little My was standing at the top of the slope, shouting with joy and admiration. She had broken a barrel and fastened two of the staves under her boots.
“Here I come,” she cried. Without a moment’s hesitation Little My set out, straight down the hill. Moomintroll looked up with one eye and saw that she would manage it. Her ferocious little face bore the mark of happy confidence and her legs were stiff as pegs.
Suddenly Moomintroll felt very proud. Little My never shied; she hurtled at breakneck speed close to a pine-bole, wobbled, caught her balance again, and with a roar of laughter threw herself down in the snow beside Moomintroll.
“She’s one of my oldest friends,” he explained to the Fillyjonk.