Tuesday morning we got up as normal, between 5 and 6 , to walk slowly to the paper shop. I could feel for Tex this short stroll seemed massive. But he insisted on doing what we do. Somewhere, about half way I had the thought, this would be the last time we would do this walk.
Crossing roads had become difficult. I'd wait, listening to make sure no fast cars were approaching, look down at Tex to check he could handle it, then we'd go for it, slowly. He made it up the stairs ok and had his stick of joint stuff. He hadn't fed properly for two days. He hadn't had a shit either.
The morning went whith us laid together on the sofa. He just slept. I rang the vet and arranged to go at five. Rain poured all day.
We tried to do our small loop about midday where he has a couple of huge pisses. His legs were wobbly though so we abandoned it and headed home.
As the day went I looked at the clock, knowing that this was his last hour, his last half hour, them time to go.
He tumbled down the stairs, his rear end beyond his control. Once outside I picked him up and carried him to the van. My bed from last week was inside and my partner climbed in and he pushed his head to her bosom.
At the vet there is a path to the playing fields and he remembered the urges he once got there and from somewhere he got his legs going again for a last look. It hurt to see this once magnificent animal, and he really was king of the dogs in Frome. Some may claim it and another claims it now but for many years he was the proudest, strongest beast in the field. He looked longingly at the grass hen could no longer charge out in to, then we turned and strolled ba ck.
Inside we waited. Other dogs were there but he had last interest. His body couldn't carry his mind but his eyes caught mine. Very rarely throughout his life did he look so clearly in to my eyes.
The vet was great. She had warned me six weeks back, when many freinds couldn't see what I could, that his days were numbered. She talked me through how it would be. She shaved his leg a small patch and he struggled here, but only as much as if he were having a bath or some minor hassle he didn't want. He had a sedative and they left me with him while this kicked in. I rang my partner whi was outside to tell her to come into say goodbye. We all had a cuddle but it weren't the time. Two syringes of the blue fluid lay on the side and I just thought, that his how near death is.
It doesn't take long. He had a few deep breathes but he was no longer conscious.
They asked me if I wanted to have some time with his corpse but he had gone. I may not believe in the transcendence of the soul but he was no longer there. To stay was pointless. I'd thought of where I would bury him. How I'd have a fire. Camp out. Drink to his memory. But there was nowhere I could think of that meant anymore than anywhere else. And I wasn't in the mood for pompous self misery wallowing. I left him there. Paid the bill and we drove away. Without him.
I haven't often been so broken. But there is some purity in the grief. I know I didn't drag him through days of suffering. I was strong enough to pick the right time. I hope someone will for me when mt time comes.
This is the first time I've been up to writing. We've let things drift. I haven't got back to work yet, but I will. I've done the walks we did. I got up today, out before six when the roads get too busy. I walked where we walked. Saw each point where he sniffed, each corner where he pissed.
He really was the best freind I ever had. I learned as much from him as from anyone. It will be tough finding new ways to do things. I will get a bike. Go to pubs. Go do things I couldn't do. But Ilove him still. He was a good dog.
