Toofus was a fifteen-year-old retired racing greyhound, who had been
part of my household for five and a half years. Fifteen is really
old: the median longevity of the breed is a little more than thirteen
years. He had various health problems, particularly gradual loss of
some of the function of the hind legs; so I knew that he was slowing
down, and that I should not be surprised if he came to the end of the
road within the next year, or even in any given month. But there was
nothing acute, nothing to indicate that it was imminent ....
... until 5 am on Sunday, October 12, when I was awakened by noises,
and went and found that things were a good deal worse. He had fallen,
struggled to get up, and fallen again -- several times, apparently,
because all four legs had places where skin had come off as he
staggered against the legs of the dining room table.
This was on a hard-floored surface. When I got him on to the carpet,
he was able to stand and walk. But shakily.
I began to face the question of whether it was time to euthanize him.
I talked to various people on the phone.
Meanwhile, I was observing that he was somewhat stabilized, but not
showing any signs of returning to the previous day's level of
functioning. He could get up, and walk around some; but he fell down
several more times.
I became more or less clear that it was the right thing to let him go, to
"send him to Rainbow Bridge", as the current expression has it; but I
thought that it could wait for the next day, when the regular
veterinarians would be open. Then, in the evening, it got worse yet:
he fell down again, and, after twenty minutes, had not made any
attempt to get up. So then it became clear, intellectually but also
emotionally, that the more merciful thing was to grant him his
honorable discharge, and do it quickly.
I ended up using a "pet ambulance" service to get him to the Cary pet
emergency clinic. He was given the lethal injection, an overdose of a
sedative, at about 11 pm. It was over in less than a minute.
I cried some, there and then. The next day, I was sad, but not
intensely so; I was at peace with my decision. However, a month
later, I am under no illusion that I am done grieving.
I loved that dog.
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2:20:24 PM 
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