Yesterday we decided to put our dog down. It was a sad day. Buster was thirteen, and since Halloween had been having trouble figuring out if he was inside or outside when he decided to relieve himself. Tuesday this week was really the deciding day. He had been outside, came into the house, stood in front of the picture window and urinated like he was in the yard.
He’d also been having trouble getting up and down the stairs, and had be whining when there wasn’t anything to whine about, so we took the big step and decided it was time. We even called Daniel at school and asked him if we should wait until Christmas when he was home, but he said, “No; not if we were having to clean up after him all the time.”
Here’s a final picture that I took at the vet.
When we came home we threw out the bed, and the urine soaked rug. It was a hard day for everyone, but much easier than if he had fallen down the stairs and really busted himself up.
He was an amazing dog, his ears were always funny, with one standing up, and the other sort of folded over; and he had a pink nose, a strange color for a golden lab and shepard mix.
We’ll miss you, and I’m sure the skateboarders will miss you too.