So much gratitude for all of you and your prayers, thoughts, and support! Many of you shared your stories of letting your dogs go, so I'll share Max's, too. I can't talk about it without breaking down, but maybe writing it out will help a little.

By Thursday afternoon it was clear that he was deteriorating fast. His appetite had been waning considerably, but now he was refusing food altogether, and not even bacon, steak, or ice cream could entice him. Every breath was short and labored and raspy, and he could only take a few steps at a time. We spent all of Thursday just sitting outside. He didn't sleep or lay his head down, but kept himself propped up and looking out at the world. But he seemed a little spacey and detached. I was afraid of going into the weekend and finding myself in a bad situation where I'd need to take him to the ER/after-hours clinic. So I scheduled an at-home euthanasia with a vet who isn't our ordinary vet. Max always got so agitated at clinics, and I didn't want him to recognize our vet and associate the visit with that anxiety. The DVM actually answered the phone, and she was so kind and caring that I felt confident with that choice and took the later Friday afternoon availability at 4:30.

In the evening I tried steak and ice cream again as a last dinner. He took one bite of steak and one lick of ice cream and wouldn't have anything else. He just laid on his bed on the living room floor, and I sat with him there for hours, petting him and telling him I loved him and that he'd made these last three-plus years the best of my life. His breathing was terrible, and at one time he convulsed violently and then his head dropped, and I thought he had died! He hadn't, and I have no idea what that was all about, but it was awful. Later I scooped him up to take him out front to potty before bedtime, and after three steps he stopped. His heart was pounding and he was breathing really hard. It took him a while to catch his breath and to steady his heartbeat, but once he was calm I had to carry him out to the grass. 

He fell asleep again but was restless at times throughout the night. I slept on the floor with him, and at one point he jumped up into a standing position. He had been doing that the previous two days at times, as if it were a more comfortable position somehow. He seemed absolutely miserable, and I was terrified that his heart would give out and that his suffering might be too much. So at 2 a.m. I got my boyfriend and made the call to take him to the overnight clinic and get it done. Waiting until 4:30 p.m. the next day seemed tortuous.

At the clinic, he was immediately agitated, and two techs came into the exam room with a clipboard of forms, a big syringe of pink liquid, a stethoscope, and a blanket. No DVM, no exam, no calming words or interaction. They laid down a blanket on the cold floor and waited for us to cooperate. Max paced. They said they'd give us a few minutes and left the room. When they came back in he was no calmer, and I was frankly a wreck. My instinct was Wait, no, stop! No. This was not right at all. I told the techs we were leaving. Max hightailed it out of there--the most he'd moved in 24 hours. My boyfriend was a little irked with me, but I didn't give a rip about that. I knew he'd come to see sense later. (He did.)

Back at home, Max cuddled up with me on the bed and slept serenely the rest of the night, barely moving and breathing quietly. In the morning, he jumped off the bed and looked at the door. I opened it but he didn't move. Again I carried him outside to pee and then back in. I called the vet and asked if an earlier time was available, and we were able to schedule for 11:30 rather than 4:30.

He was a bit perkier and more interactive than he'd been on Thursday, and I almost canceled altogether. I started questioning if my decision were right. But there was still no appetite and little ability to move, and the next step would be incontinence, which I'm told can make a dog feel ashamed. Plus, if things went south, I'd be at the mercy of that awful clinic again. It had to be done.

When the vet and her tech arrived, Max got up and brought them a shoe. He brought them a shoe! That tore a gash right through my heart, let me tell you. He sniffed their box of supplies, and we engaged in some small talk to calm the atmosphere and settle him down. (They were warm and kind and sympathetic--180 degrees from the sterile ER clinic people.) He finally draped himself across my lap, but when they put the trimmer on his leg to clear a spot for the IV catheter, he jumped up and hid behind me. The cat was out of the bag, and he didn't care for the direction this visit was taking. He stayed behind me, and as I calmed him down, the vet gave him a quick shot of a sedative. As it took effect, he laid down, and she put the IV in. When he was completely calm, she injected the anesthesia. I kept my hand on his chest and kissed his face, crying and crying and crying, until his chest stopped moving with breathing and he was completely still. They wrapped him in a blanket, lay him on a stretcher, and took him to their car. I gave him one more parting kiss, and that was that.

It wasn't the "good death" I'd hoped for, I guess. He didn't accept it! He resisted! It almost felt like an act of betrayal than of humaneness. That haunts me. But, honestly, that's who Max was. As gentle a soul as he was, he fought so hard for his life! He was feisty with life. Throughout the excruciating pain of the tumor in his tibia, the misery of a bone biopsy, the discomfort of amputation, the deterioration of his lungs and possibly other organs, he never--not once--wimpered in pain. He was so, so determined to live and to BE. If he'd gotten to the point where death was welcome, then truly I would have waited too long. That's the comfort I offer myself.

The hole in my life is just gaping wide open right now. Oh, how much I miss him! We went to a movie for distraction on Friday night--didn't work. I tried retail therapy on Saturday--didn't work. Chores and church on Sunday--church was some help. Anything but an empty house. 

This morning I took heart by promising to not just "Be More Dog " but "be more Max." I think the best way I can honor his life is to live more like he did--with an open heart and all-out joy for each and every day. I know that sounds really sappy, but it makes me feel better.