End of an era

I know that everyone whose dog has died insists that their dog really was the best dog ever, but in our case we know it's true.  We've heard it from dog people who really know about dogs, we've heard it from cat people who didn't think they liked dogs, we've heard it from dog owners who wish their dog was more like Scooby...  Today we're not in the mood to hear about any rival candidates for the title.

Scooby Dunstone 1998(?) - 25 July 2011

Yes, we knew his health could change any day, and last weekend it changed.  Scooby's breathing became laboured, he lost his appetite for food and for fun.  On Saturday 23rd he came for a walk and  even had a swim in a pond in the Forest of Dean but he had to do everything slowly, stumbling occasionally and pausing often to catch his breath.  On Sunday he was even worse, coughing and unable to walk very far without puffing.  The vet found his chest to be filled with fluid which impeded his breathing.  We left with a course of diuretics to try to clear the fluid, an attempt to win him a few more weeks.  He spent his last day lying in the sun in a campsite in Wentloog near Cardiff, rising occasionally to stagger to the hedge for a pee (clean and well mannered as ever).

On Monday morning he'd deteriorated further.  He was an action dog, and hated going to the vet, so prolonging and intensifying the treatment in an attempt to win him a few more weeks of life as a gasping invalid clearly wasn't fair.  He invoked his dog privilege and was provided with a swift, painless and dignified exit.

Which leaves us feeling …. oh maybe I'll come back and edit this when I think of a strong enough word for it.  'Upset' will have to do for the moment.  He's been such a big part of our lives for the whole time we've know each other (and longer than that for Stella).  He's inspired us with his lust for life, he's made us laugh, he's comforted us with his loving presence, and he's woven through all our routines.  Everywhere we turn, his absence leaps out at us.

He often used to spot the person sitting in the room who thought they didn't like dogs.  He'd approach them, ignoring their distaste or nervousness, haul himself onto the seat next to them and settle down on their lap with a contented groan.   It seemed a high risk approach but it usually did the trick, and even if they didn't end up thinking of themselves as dog lovers they usually ended up as Scooby lovers.

At times like this you really need a warm heavy chin on your knee and some soft ears to rub. The Beautiful Big Blue Van seems too big with just a crew of two.