Today, we had to put our dog, Bear, a crotchety old Lhasa Apso and the apple of my wife's eye, down.  It was surprisingly difficult to do for me.  I say 'surprisingly' because the little guy frequently bugged the stuffing out of me.  He licked--non-stop.  He drug his nails on the floor whilst shuffling at all hours around the linoleum of our kitchen.  He would go around to each piece of furniture in whichever room I happened to be, pick a spot on that piece of furniture, and lick that spot until it was soggy with his slurp.  He peed.  He puked.  He barked loudly and impatiently at the patio door to alert us to the fact that he needed to go outside--frequently after having already dispensed with the chore of elimination.  Oh, etc.  Suffice it to say he could be annoying.  Especially so because he seemed to get steadily more grumpy as he advanced in age (he would have been 15 next Spring).

You know what, though?  I'll miss him--just a little bit--nonetheless, and I'll always feel just a trifle guilty that ours evolved into something of an adversarial relationship as he entered his geezer years.  Really, he was a sweet-natured little fellow who was really gentle with the kids, loved everybody, and just looked forward to getting some attention, or eating some food.  Whichever--he wasn't overly particular.

It was shocking how fast it all went at the veterinarian's office.  Mere moments, and Bear was gone.  Greta was just gutted, but hung in there with him so that he wouldn't feel alone.  It was a hard, hard thing to do.  At least he left this earth with the person he cared about the most right there with him, along with about a half-bag of the better dog treats in his stomach.  Rest in peace, Bear-Bear.

If you have a pet, give him or her an extra stroke or two.