Burt

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Wilbur Gilburt McSneezlepants

November-ish, 1998 -- November, 2014

It's never a good day to put down the dog.  There are only bad days, and worse days.


On November 15, we helped Burt not be in pain.  Not be abandoned at home while we ran errands or took a trip, ever again.  Not worry about stairs, or be unhappy about not being able to jump up onto the couch.  Not worry that that every bit of food he consumed would be the last ever available to him.


We got him 15 years ago.  He was one year old, and had spent that year running stray in rural Kentucky.  He was a friendly, gregarious guy, but as far as we know, he had never had a home.

He adjusted very quickly to the indoor life.  I think he decided he had spent more than enough time being uncomfortable, sleeping outside under a bush.  He decided to put all of that far behind him, and be as comfy as possible, always.  On the cowshe.  Preferably on pillows, in the sunshine.  With a blanket.

He learned very quickly that if he barked at the back door, he could make us open it to let him out, or to let him back in again.  When he came in, especially when it was wet and cold, he would often do victory laps.  It seemed to me that coming into a warm dry house after being outside in the cold and wet, he was so full of joy that he just had to RUN.....

He had a very healthy outlook on life.  He always hoped for the best from everyone he met (but was ready to skedaddle if things looked iffy).  He thought every human might give him a treat, and he never failed to check to see if they would.  He was the kind of person who never missed out on an opportunity because he didn't ask (and ask politely).  He never offered violence to anyone (until the last several months, when he could be cranky with other dogs....).

He has been less and less himself, over the last year or so.  His long-term congestion got worse and worse.  His hearing went, and his vision was going.  Mobility was more and more and more difficult.  He failed a biopsy last spring, done on a bad spot in his mouth, and those rogue cells were multiplying out of control, visible as a swelling on the side of his face that grew and grew.......  I know this was painful for him.

A year ago, I'd have said he had all of his marbles.  Lately, I'd have said that, on a good day he had, maybe, 20% of them.  He began eating things he should not eat (walnut shells, hazelnut shells, locust-tree pods).  He began to be dangerously underfoot (if one of us tripped and fell on him, both of us could have been hurt).  Just lately he forgot he knew how to get us to let him out when he needed to go....


Even so.

It's never a good day to put the dog down.


We hope he has found a cowshe on which to snooze.  In the sunshine, next to a bacon bush.  When he's not exploring the neighborhood (WITHOUT a leash!), checking to see which people will share treats, and which dogs wish to exchange friendly greetings.  We hope he is full of joy.


You were a good dog, Burt.  We miss you.


Remembering him with a smile, when he was himself.....





Note -- I posted this originally on Nov. 16.  Now (on the 24th) I'm moving it so that it fits in chronological order with the rest of the mid-November posts.

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