A sad evening, a tearful goodbye

I stopped by the daughter's house this evening to photograph the puppies so we can get them listed on petfinder.com and start finding homes for the sweeties.  We came up with a system to number them so we could try to keep up with which darling was which.

As we began trying to sort the babies I noticed one wasn't moving just right.  Daughter said she hadn't noticed anything funny, but they had been confined to the closet still, and so hadn't been out roaming the house, and there are so many of them. 

Well, after noticing the one baby's legs and how she seemed to be dragging one, I picked her up and examined her. It was not good.  I moved the leg slightly, but she didn't make a peep, didn't jump in pain, not a whimper.  That was even worse. 

A phone call to the vet and a trip back to town. We arrived and filled out the paperwork, and had to give her a name.  Tiny fit her perfectly.  A half hour later Daughter received the news I already knew was coming.  It was neuroligcal and there was nothing, really, that could be done for the poor thing.  She would never walk.  The decision had to be made. Did she really want to try to take care of a crippled 100 pound dog for the next however many years the poor thing managed to live, or do the humane thing.

It is at this point that I'm desperately trying not to cry. Daughter's doing enough of that for both of us.  But I'm angry.  Why is it the humane thing?  Why do we find it so easy, sometimes, to euthanize an animal simply because it would be inconvenient for us?

And the answer was, although it was not easy, it was the right thing to do.  It was the hardest thing I have had to do in a very, very long time.  I had to convince daughter it was the right thing to do. 

This dog would never be able to walk, run, play, or do any of the things dogs do.  She would always have problems with sores, with "potty" issues, eventually she'd have kidney problems, arthritis, or even worse. She'd never be able to defend herself against other dogs. 

The hardest part was watching as Daughter made the decision, because it was hers to make, and unable to do anything as she sobbed and finally gathered the strength to hand the baby to the vet.  It was heartbreaking. 

As I sat here, once I finally made it home, and looked at all the photos, all I could do was shed a few tears and remember that I do believe in a "dog heaven" so to speak, and when she reaches that place, she'll have two wonderfully strong legs to let her run, play and romp the way puppies should.

Play hard, Tiny Girl.  And remember to nuzzle my Lulu for me. For she's there with you to guide you.