Just like Old Yeller and Of Mice and Men

We had to put Skitch down today. Over the past couple days he stopped eating, became lethargic, and lost that spunk and life in his eyes.

He then suffered the indignity of not being able to make it outside before he had to crap.

They always say that you know when it’s time to put your dog down, but you don’t really understand that statement until the moment arrives.

When we took him to the vet, he explained that he was in congestive heart failure. (He’d been diagnosed with heart problems a few years earlier and had outlived the vet’s estimates of how much longer he had.) Fluid was building in his lungs and stomach, and he was using all his energy just to breathe. That’s why he wasn’t eating, and that’s why he was so lethargic.

We knew he was beyond repair so the vet got him set up with an IV and let us say goodbye to him.

We wanted to be there when he was given the overdose of meds. I didn’t realize how hard that would be. I held him and pet him as the vet put the needle in. It was surreal as the tears welled up in my eyes. For a second I wanted to tell him to stop, but I knew this was the right thing to do.

I’ve seen dead family members, witnessed a tissue harvest at a hospital, killed wild animals and bugs, but nothing was quite like holding onto Skitch as he died. Feeling his heart stop and his lungs stop as his body slumped down like he was taking a nap was tragic.

The vet gave us some time, and I just broke down over his little body.

He was a good dog. He lived a long life, 15 or 16 years by the estimates of how old he was when we adopted him.

I’m going to miss him.

No more coughing buddy, No more pain.