This morning when "Mr. Ears" got up, you knew he was ready. He LOOKED miserable, which he has been trying to hide his pain as a "tough guy" for the last month from us--even though I am quite confident he knew we knew.
So this afternoon, before we went to the vet for the last time, I took him out and threw the tennis ball for him, just the two of us, fed him a Brat, which he happily wolfed down, and then he went and collapsed in a heap as he's been doing lately after very little activity until it was time to go.
The vet is about a 35 minute ride from the house and the whole time he was up, nuzzling Paula, Abby, and my ears, nose out the window sniffing the air--and trying to climb into the front seats.
Part of me thinks, knowing how intelligent he was, he KNEW it was time and where he was going--and he was saying "Thanks". Not only for letting it finally end when he felt he was done, but for taking him in and making him part our pack.
Harley was, a rare dog--never complaining, always willing to curl up and tolerate our indiosyncrascies, and the tireless retriever of thrown tennis balls, happy to give you a love nibble with gentle lips and to surprise you with a sloppy kiss out of no where.
Go tirelessly chase tennis balls with Jagermeister while Davey "talks", rooting you guys on.
He is already missed.shayhurs.deviantart.com/art/La…
Peace, "Mr Ears"...