As I’m writing this, our eldest dog, Vincent, is having lots of treats and being pampered. But by the time you’re reading it, he will be gone. He has had a number of medical and mental problems over the past few months, which have been getting steadily worse. The vet has been seeing the change in him, and presented us with a realistic but very grim picture. Essentially, all of the options of what could be causing his problems are non-curable or the treatments would be very difficult for a dog his age to survive (such as surgery). Further, his quality of life has drastically decreased over the spring, and it is extremely unlikely that it will go back to an even keel, let alone improve. In a very emotional discussion, we decided that the best course was to euthanize him so that he doesn’t have to live in more pain and mental confusion.
Vincent hasn’t been in our lives long: we adopted him a year and a half ago and knew he had medical problems. We gave him a year and a half of love and health that he probably wouldn’t have had if he hadn’t been found wandering the streets by SEPRA. Michelle wasn’t sure he was the right guy for us, but David and I thought he needed to be a part of our family, and she quickly grew to see the love and character buried in this street tough. He got healthier and began to bark and run and play again under our care. He’s a fighter, our little tough guy, and he went through a lot of personal battles (including fighting a few demons in his sleep). But as much as we love him, at some point he had to lose the war.
I’m going to miss him so much. I’m going to miss how he always checked to make sure I was in my chair. I’m going to miss how the cat would hit him and he’d no-sell the attack. I’m going to miss how much he made us laugh.
Requiescat in pace, Vincent. Keep biting the hell out of demons wherever you end up, little buddy.