Thursday night was rough. Every hour Buddy would get up and walk over to the water dish and lap lap lap lap at it for about five minutes. I could hear his teeth clacking between every lap. Then he would stand there and sigh. I would get up and let him outside. He would stand on the porch and think about it, then slowly make his way down the steps. Sometimes he would just stand there and sniff the wind. About 4 AM he gave up on coming up the steps on his own. I had to get down and help him up our two steps. He would walk into the living room and just stand there, breathing heavy. I would hug him and cry and put my hand on his chest to feel his heart. It didn't feel regular. I would coax him to his blanket and he would stand rigid, staring off into space. I had to help him sit, and then lay down. When this all happened again at 5 AM I prayed he would fall asleep and not wake up, spare me from having to take him in. I couldn't sleep. I was too emotional, listening for every little sound.
At 6:30 or so when Buddy got up again I put on my glasses and turned on the light. After all that drinking I expected his dish to be empty. It was still half full. That broke my heart. I let him out and had to help him down the stairs and then back up. He walked over to the living room and I helped him down again on his blanket. Levi woke up and I distracted myself by taking out the other dogs, getting ready for the day. I knew I had to make the call. I thought I could hold it together but when Jen answered I started crying. I know her from the barn, we've ridden horses together. She asked me when I'd like to schedule the appointment and I told her as soon as possible. During the conversation I walked over towards Buddy and was horrified to see a pool of blood behind him. I cried harder and tried to tell Jen what was happening. She said to come on in and they would make time for me.
By now the whole family was up. I told Matt I couldn't wait any longer, I had already waited too long and now he was truly suffering. He asked if I wanted him to go and I told him no, I knew how long it would take to get the kids ready, and I didn't want them there for this anyway. Buddy got up and walked out the door and down the sidewalk with me, but I couldn't get him in the truck. Matt had to lift him up for me. I had blanket there for him and we laid him down. He sighed and laid his head down between his paws.
Somehow I drove to the clinic. We got there about 8 AM. I walked in and Jen was on the phone with someone who seemed to have billing questions. The receptionist told me "Sarah will be right out." It must have been obvious why I was there but I had left Buddy in the truck. Then the gal asked me to go in room one. I told her I would rather not bring my dog in. She said "The vet would like to talk to you." Oh ok, I can do that. I think.
Sarah came in and asked me about Buddy's condition. I tried as best I could to explain to her his rapid decline last night and this morning how blood was just seeping out of him. She was sad to hear all of this but understanding and said she would be out to my truck soon. So I went out and stood with him, loved on him and reminded him of some of our past adventures. Sarah came out and climbed up in the truck and agreed he was really down. She gave him an injection to relax him. I think it is more or less to prepare the owner because when it kicks in your dog might as well be dead, they sure don't move. I had some more time with him alone and just cried and talked about more memories as I pet his senior head. Sarah came back out and I moved his front end over a little so she could euthanize him without having to climb back into the truck. It was bittersweet. There was a sense of peace because I knew I had done the right thing, there was no mistaking that now. But such a big void was left in my heart, and the house!
I covered him with the blanket, and went in and paid the bill. I knew I didn't have to, but that was one bill I didn't want to see ever again. Then I went out to my truck and cried some more. I tried to compose myself and I called Doug. He said to come on out. I called Matt so he wouldn't worry and then drove out to the country. Doug met me in the driveway and gave me a hug. Cindy came out and I cried all over again. Then we talked about where to put him. I am not sure why, but when they mentioned Jaquita I said yes, let's put him next to her.
As Doug did all the hard work, Cindy and I reminisced about the time when I was in college and house-sitting for them. They came in late one night and found me in the middle of the king-sized bed, with Buddy all sprawled out next to me on one side, and their Doberman Sheeba all sprawled out on the other side of me. "There wasn't anyone who would think about harming you!" Cindy loves that story.
When I got home Ellie said "Buh-ee!" and pointed at the door, and then said it again and pointed out the front window. She misses him.
What has amazed me is how many people loved Buddy, he almost seems to have reached some kind of celebrity status. Everyone who met him enjoyed his company because of his sweet gentle demeanor. He may have looked scary with his dark brindle coat and cropped ears, but his heart was made of gold. He was a quiet dog, only barking a handful of times in his lifetime. He was my first real show dog, and we earned numerous titles in conformation, obedience, agility and weight pull. He could do it all, and with a grin. He was a great ambassador for his breed and was on the cover of the Union-Bulletin in 2001. He lived a full life, he sired nine puppies, and slept on the couch. Most of all he enriched me. He was a true friend and companion. These little Bostons will never fill his shoes. But, maybe that's ok.
Buddy with his Best In Show trophy, 1999.
