On Thursday night, while waiting with Sancho, the vet said something useful and comforting. He said that I shouldn't feel bad about my grief over Sancho. The pain of parting was just a last validation that I had loved and cared for him as I should have.
I need to remember to breathe joy, not anticipate sorrow. I've got two more geriatric goats and a sixteen-year-old Shan-cat who still delight my days. And there are more animals growing old behind them. Night will come for each of us, but not just yet.