Petey went to rest today.

Petey came to live with me 12 or so years ago.  Over time he became my best friend.  A willing confidant, an extraordinary travel companion, an adventure wingdog, and a bedwarmer in the wintertime.  He was willing, eager, to do whatever I wanted to do.  He would listen for hours on end as I told jokes, pontificated, sang or groused.  Whatever was for dinner was just fine with him.  Whatever was on TV was just fine with him.  Wherever we went in the car was hooray! with him.  Whoever we wanted to see or talk with was the best person in the world and just who he wanted to see.  You couldn't ask for a better best friend.  Petey.  God love him, I surely did.  

Last Tuesday night when I got home, I found him paralyzed in both hind legs.  What's up with that?  Legs all limp, no push back or tone to the muscles, willy out and not modestly going back in, struggling to use his front legs to will himself upright and not succeeding.  I dozed on the sofa with him instead of going up to bed.  In the morning we were on our way to the vet before the vet even opened his doors.  

The vet suggested that his age (14 years at least) might have something to do with it, and showed us X-rays of the lack of space between his vertebrae and how the discs were squeezed in several places, impacting the spinal cord.  Petey got a shot of anti inflammatory, and pain killer, and they sent us home with seven oral doses of the same combo, take one a day and let's reassess.  Okay.  We went home.

All the rest of Wednesday and also Wednesday night, Petey slept, refused food, would not drink water. I medicine droppered water into him 10 cc at a time for many times.  Not gonna get dehydrated on my watch.  Thursday, Petey and I hung out on the sofa, watched TV, talked it all over, adult-splained it to Sammy.  Petey began to drink from a bowl held under his nose, and ate two scrambled eggs as I fed him from a spoon.  Friday Petey slept, struggled to stand up but had no movement or strength from his legs.  He ate dinner of real dog food, and drank a lot from his bowl, which I still needed to hold, he wasn't able to stand to it.  He struggled again to get to his feet.  No response from his back legs.  He panted and whined.  Using only his front feet, he tried and tried to stand.  No motion from the back end.  He panted and he cried.  He cried all evening Friday, so I gave him his meds for Saturday, hoping that the pain killer would ease him.  It did, a little, but he woke in the night crying and woke in the morning crying.  

I would have taken care of him forever, carrying him, cleaning up the messes, feeding him, whatever.  Just to keep him around.  For conversation, for mutual silent happiness, for love.  But I could not take care of him crying, because that meant he was in pain.  And I could not tolerate him being in pain.  

So, Saturday, that was this morning, we went to the doctor again.  And I held Petey in my lap and the doctor gave him shots, and I held him as he eased away, and I held him while the doctor listened for a heartbeat, and I held him after the heartbeat went away.  Then I gave him to the assistant, paid my bill (not much considering the magnitude of what had been done) and I got in my car and left.