May 24th was my dad’s birthday, the first since he died. I was already in a pretty raw mood that day. Then Bren contacted me at work to tell me Boomer was acting really weird—maybe a stroke—and that I should come home. As I left the office, I actually laughed out loud at how god damn tragic it was.

Boomer was clearly in distress when I got home—panting, ears back. It took both of us to get him from the hallway to the living room rug; he couldn’t walk on his own at all. I don’t think he was in pain, just scared. After I got home (and it was apparent I wasn’t leaving) he calmed down and he was able to nap. He was not able to move from where we had placed him. His head was permanently stuck in a tilted position and from time to time his eyes would roll or twitch.

He had been deteriorating since January but it was difficult to know it when it was time to let him go. I wanted a clear sign and I got one but that didn’t make it any easier. I called a service that does in-home euthanasia. They weren’t able to come until the next morning but I figured Boomer would be OK overnight as long as I stayed nearby. I had to park myself on the couch where he could see me and just…wait. In a weird way, it reminded me of right after my dad died and all we could do was wait for the death certificate and his remains. Very heavy and yet oddly boring.

I slept on the living room floor so he wouldn’t be alone his last night. Sometimes he’d wake me up with his whining and I’d have to pet him to calm him down. Of course it doesn’t count if your hand isn’t moving, so if I fell back asleep with my hand on him he’d whine and lick my hand to wake me up for more pets. High-maintenance until the end. 🙂

The vet came the next morning. He fell asleep in his own home with us petting him. I was crying my eyes out but tried to act like I wasn’t sad so he wouldn’t be upset.

It’s been a few weeks so it’s easier to talk about. It was really hard at first—the house is so empty. I don’t have to block the cupboard to keep a dog snoot away from the treats. No more dog hair tumbleweeds. The vet gave us a brochure about grief that mentioned “pet love”—I was glad for that because I was surprised by my own reaction. It’s just a dog, after all. But he really was a part of the family and our lives.

He was about 12 and a half years old, not bad at all for such a big boy. I adopted him when he was seven and I think I gave him a pretty decent second act. 🙂 I will miss him.