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Jun. 20th, 2007 06:00 pmSo one week ago today, my dog Larry was put to sleep. He was a few days short of his twelfth birthday, and he went out as he did most things: with dignity and suavity.
It made sense: Larry had diabetes and weak back legs and had stopped eating to the point of pushing his dish away with his nose. You can't give insulin to a diabetic dog that won't eat, and we figure he was feeling old and tired. After all, he couldn't stand up on his own anymore - the strength just wasn't there. He seemed to be saying that he had made his choice.
Anyway, he got to celebrate his birthday early with some carrot cake, and Mom and Dad explained all of it to him, so it was okay in the end. He was a good dog, and we'll never forget him.
It made sense: Larry had diabetes and weak back legs and had stopped eating to the point of pushing his dish away with his nose. You can't give insulin to a diabetic dog that won't eat, and we figure he was feeling old and tired. After all, he couldn't stand up on his own anymore - the strength just wasn't there. He seemed to be saying that he had made his choice.
Anyway, he got to celebrate his birthday early with some carrot cake, and Mom and Dad explained all of it to him, so it was okay in the end. He was a good dog, and we'll never forget him.
