One less dog

Well, the time finally came.  The old canine lost control of the bladder entirely.  Combined with the inability to stand on the hind legs this led to some extremely unpleasant situations.   The old guy would suddenly notice that he was laying in a warm, pungent puddle and would look up in bewilderment.  He actually would try to clean it up, but that was disgusting.  He would then try to drag his motionless back side away from the puddle and create a wide, pale yellow paint brush stroke across the floor.  Last Thursday morning he could not drag himself from his bed in the family room to the kitchen to get his "medicine," wrapped in a slice of deli ham.  He looked so forlorn and miserable.  

He seemed very accepting when I picked him up after breakfast and a walk on his wheelchair and carried him to the car.  He reclined contentedly in the back seat on the ride.  He did not resist when I lifted him from the car and carried him in to the vet's office.  He calmly accepted his position on the vet's table.  Even though I was crying like a child, the look on his face as I gave him his final back rubs seemed to be consoling, and even thankful.

It's easier to keep the place clean now, but something seems to be missing.  I keep wondering where his old water bowl is, and who left that door open to the carpeted living room.  I keep worrying that if I leave the door open too long something will run out that door and get in trouble.  But he should not be thirsty any more.  No need to worry about him spoiling the carpet.  He hadn't scampered out the door in a long time, but he certainly won't now.  I still cry when I think about that last day.  It was the right thing to do.  Knowing that doesn't seem to help.  I just hope that someone has the courage to do the same for me when I wake up in a puddle of my own making.