I cannot believe that I took Dakota to the vet at 8:30 this morning and watched him fly away from me by 9. He was so very determined to go that he almost did not endure the car ride there. I fooled him though; I broke a lot of laws to get there before he could leave.

The goal is to take off the leg that's causing problems and allow the dog to die of old age. I guess we sort of attained that goal, but I'm not satisfied. Not at all. Dakota would have been 11 in February; he had a nice gray face and old-man habits and fussiness. He left a soft tissue cancer behind 22 months ago. But he had a secret inside, and it reared its ugly head last night.

Yesterday was a typical, ordinary day for DD. He ate dinner and barfed it up about 9:15. I made note but didn't worry. He appeared a little nauseous afterward but hopped to his bed and went to sleep. He woke me up a little before 5 this morning whining. I got up and checked him out, and I was worried. He was cold, I thought. But how do you really know? I put a blanket on him and he stopped whining. I went back to bed but at 6 he hopped up off his bed and looked at me. I thought he wanted to pee, though he never goes out that early. He's a lazy bones. 

Long story short, I carried him in the sling down 15 stairs because he wouldn't walk. He collapsed in the yard, so I had to wake up George, who robed up and carried D back inside. Turns out he didn't want to pee; he wanted water. He drank a ton, barfed it up. He repeated the process about 4 more times. Lots of water barf.

When I thought to look in his mouth, I almost sobbed. His gums and tongue were more white than gray. I knew. His temp was normal, blood pressure low, and the vet was able to draw a full syringe of blood from his belly. Her opinion was that he had a bleeding spleen, likely from a hemangiosarcoma. Prognosis: If films and ultrasound showed no spread, surgery and chemo might buy a year. Or a month. Because he'd had a cancer, she said it was very likely related so she was not optimistic about spread. I was given the options, and because I was literally watching Dakota's spirit leave his body, I decided to do what I'd always promised him. I did not make him stay to make me happy. I helped him leave.

As Dakota left, I talked to him and told him there were some new friends to find. I named so very many of your dogs, as many as I could before he was gone.  Zeus. Maggie. Cooper. Sammy. Jane. Dakota won't raise any hell over the bridge. He was a good boy who did what he was supposed do, even when it made him terribly uncomfortable. I could count on a stay being a stay and a no being a no. He was probably our most compliant dog. Because he left with no warning, though, he ripped a pretty damn big hole in my heart trying to fly away. 

The first photo below is where my sweet boy started; the second is this morning. You can see he was done. The others are from happier times. (Sorry if I put in too many pictures; I don't know the limitations so edit if you need to.)

--Shari