This was our oldest dog, Buddy, just a few hours before Mr. Fix-it took him on his last trip to the vet's. I was up early with him to see how he was doing after he'd had a tough day on Friday. He'd been on daily Prednisone for the slipped disc in his back for the last year or so and was doing really well for a 16 + 1/2 year old dog; then on Friday his legs went out from under him and he couldn't have gotten up without my help.
I gave him an extra dose of the steroid Friday and he was fine all evening--he got up slowly Saturday morning, but under his own steam. He walked around the yard and I snapped some photos of him. For half-an-hour or so I told myself that he was doing so much better that maybe we should see how things went with the higher dosage of medication. I had really been hoping he'd still be here when Danger Boy came home for Christmas.
By 8 a.m. though I realized that all my reasons for not wanting to euthanize him were for us, for the people in our family not wanting to see him go, rather than for him.I thought about how awful it would be if he were to fall down the hillside in our backyard and be stuck there while we were at work and school and I just couldn't take that risk.
I knew it was time.
We spent the morning giving him lots of treats and I sat with him and stroked his head for the last half-hour before it was time for him to go. I remembered how when we first got him (he was two and a half years old, a rescue dog) a four-year old DB asked if when he died we could keep his ears because they were so silky-soft.
She's not the only one.
RIP, dear Buddy.