Tucker left us this morning about 8:45, a victim of too few red blood cells, or perhaps too many white ones. You know that he was the best dawg in the whole world, as all of our dogs are to all of us. He was good to me in my last time of need, and I tried to be good to him in his. I left home this morning with a dawg and returned home with just a collar. It hurts.
His last days were not good, but he was as comfortable as he could be made. He was treated with love and respect, and given all the love (and treats) that he could stand. He has had all the love he could stand for the last five years, if not all the treats. He was a rescue dog, and there was no way to know how bad his first years had been. Therefore, we always erred on the side of love.
The vet and his staff were wonderful this morning. They have a room for this sort of thing, called the Quiet Room, with a thickly padded vinyl mat covering most of the floor, partially covered by a large towel. All of the necessary arrangements were handled in advance. Tucker was carried out of the room and catheterized, then carried back in. The vet and I petted him, and spoke quietly to him. I gave him one last treat and nodded to the vet, who injected an overdose of anesthetic, then backed away. I was holding his head and petting him gently about sixty seconds later, when the vet pronounced him dead.
I am typing this through tears that will not stop yet, even though I know I did the right thing. He was beginning to suffer, and he did not deserve that. He deserved only the best, and I hope that he felt he got it during his years in our home.
Long live Tucker the Weird Dawg.