He was a turncoat sumbitch.
He was going white on the muzzle when I found him, wearing the white cone of shame, in a kennel at the Wichita Humane Society.
I got him to be my boy buddy in a house full of girls. And he was, as long as none of them were home. The minute one of them walked in the back door I was second fiddle.
As I said, he was a turncoat bastid, but he was my dog.
He wasn't a particularly manly dog, pouring water into his pan while he was in his kennel freaked him out and he hated to swim which seemed strange for a mixed lab-chessie, but he was my dog.
He went blind pretty quickly, so I had to help him at the head of the stairs to keep him from walking off, after that he was okay up and down. Something wasn't right though, and his blood count was out of whack, too much white, not enough red. He wouldn't eat his food laced with the red cell builder (race fuel for greyhounds) and he would growl, deep in his throat, tail still wagging, as I used a syringe to feed him.
We'd spent a lot of time together, sometimes with him just sitting next to my chair while I would distractedly pet him. Lately, I'd had to go down to his level, sitting on the floor.
I noticed his tail, while it still wagged, it was a dejected, downward drooping wag. Late last night it came to me he hadn't had any fun for a while, I took him for a last little walk this morning then loaded him in the truck and took him on his last ride to the vet.
We sat on the floor together in the waiting room for a little while, waiting. Then I lifted him up onto the table and talked to him while he went to sleep. I wanted to stop the vet, but couldn't because I knew Jayce needed me to do what was best for him.
On the way home I punched up The Doors:
This is the end, beautiful friend
This is the end, my only friend, the end
Of our elaborate plans, the end
Of everything that stands, the end
No safety or surprise, the end
I'll never look into your eyes, again...
Goodbye, Jayce.
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Originally Posted by Firefly
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