Gofirstclass
Well-Known Member
This is Sailor in a photo taken about 2 months ago. Sailor adopted us about 3.5 years ago, shortly before I found out I have cancer. He came into our lives at a time when, though I didn't know it yet, he would become my therapy dog and a constant companion.
We never knew how old he was because we didn't know his background. When he "adopted" us he was a skinny 65-pound dog whose pads were all red and raw from being on the run. At that time the vet guessed his age at 11.
He became my constant companion and was not usually more than 6' from me. Over the past few months his hips began to fail, making it difficult for him to get up. That didn't stop him though from waking me up every morning about 6:20 a.m. to go for our walk down along the Columbia River. Our walks got shorter and shorter as it became more difficult for him to make it back up the gentle slope to the house.
Monday evening he was in the front yard and failed when he tried to get up to come back in the house. His barks were pleas for help and I knew there was nothing I could do to help. I called our vet and they agreed to send out two lab techs to put him to sleep.
In the 20 minutes or so it took them to get to the house I was able to lie on the grass with him and comfort him. It helped calm both of us. The two techs arrived, administered the drugs to put him to sleep and I helped them load him into their SUV.
Today is the first day I haven't really teared up when thinking about Sailor. I'll miss his 6:20 a.m. wake up call, his 6:30 p.m. "let's go get the mail" barks and his 8:45 "time to go to bed" barks. There's a lot I will miss about Sailor; too much to list here, but he knows I'm missing him. He's too intuitive not to notice.
