On Valentine's Day I said goodbye to my best friend. It's been a long, drawn out decline for Rigby, and I just had to decide to end it.
Since Rigby is the only dog I've had, and the only pet I've had to decide to let go, it was a tough decision. And as I was sitting on the floor of the vet office, bawling my eyes out, I wondered if I should have waited. But, it was too late, the needle was already in his leg, and he stopped breathing.
Really, the waiting would have been for me, not for him. His quality of life wasn't great.
That last morning, I took him for a walk. I got a roast beef and mayo sandwich and took it down to the river. He devoured it in 30 seconds, then rolled around in the snow--one of his favorite things to do. I let him off leash in the park to chase geese, which he didn't get anywhere near, but he's been wanting to do it for years. We went home and he slept until his appointment.
Henry came back early from a filming trip and we dropped the boys at a friend's. Now I try to remember him running in the snow, sniffing through alpine meadows, and climbing peaks. I hope the picture of him laying dead on the vet floor, tongue hanging out of his mouth, fades.
He was a pain in the ass sometimes, but forever my favorite boy princess. It's ridiculous how much I love that dog.