So we went to Ian and Madelena's wedding, at the zoo, which was lovely. Lots of friends old and new, some dancing, some alpacas.
However. I got home, and Mulder, who was staying in a kennel while we were away, was refusing to eat. He seemed to be suffering, so to the vet. The vet said there was something wrong with his pancreas and kidneys, possibly an infection, and that antibiotics and IV fluids might help. He was dehydrated and had lost some weight. The vet also said that Mulder had the highest white blood cell count of any dog he had seen who was still walking around. Stoic animal.
Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday we took him to get IV and drugs. He rallied a little in that he was more cheerful, but continued to refuse to eat. He kept taking off to go down and lie in the river, which was problematic as it's still pretty high and I thought he was going to get swept away. At one point I couldn't talk him out of the water and sat down on the bank and cried. He then got out, because he saw I was crying and he was worried by me being upset. Not sure what he was getting out of that but he was sure determined. We tried to remain optimistic but he didn't have enough strength in his back legs to help himself up, which the vet said was neurological and probably related to something systemic that was eating him. I couldn't concentrate at work, thinking about him. Luckily Miguel didn't have any jobs so he was home with him and we tried to make him comfortable and hang out with him as much as possible.
Monday there were more tests. His white blood cell count was a bit better, kidneys and pancreas worse despite massive doses of antibiotics. The vets said that it wasn't kind to continue, and that we should let him go. Miguel took him home, and when I got home from work Mulder was lying in his wading pool, enjoying the sun, looking for all the world like a healthy, normal dog. Which of course he was not.
We drove somberly back to the clinic with him riding in the back seat. He sat still for probably the only time in his life, usually he would stand between the driver and passenger, blocking the rear-view mirror and screaming.
They let us sit with him on the lawn out back of the clinic while they gave him a sedative that was supposed to make him fall asleep. It really was a beautiful day, sunny and warm, and he was enjoying that we were both sitting there petting him and talking to him. The vet came back out after fifteen minutes or so to see if he was falling asleep and he wasn't. He was still stubbornly holding his head up and paying attention to us. We kept petting.
Eventually he relaxed. we put him on his side, and continued to pet him and say silly things to him. the vet came back and administered the euthanasia drug and then left us again. I really didn't want to see him die but I also didn't want him to think I didn't love him any more. Just before the vet gave him the shot, I told him "good night, my puppy dog", as I have for years. He breathed heavily two or three times and then went slack. I had managed not to cry the whole time, because he hated it when I did (as evidenced by the river incident) and I was happy we were able to keep him calm while it happened and be with him right til the end.
Now I miss him. After 11 years I have a little portion of my brain that is devoted to thinking about him and where he is, what he needs, when we'll go walking, looking forward to seeing him when I get home. I can't seem to turn that little sensation off, just like I kept thinking of things I wanted to tell dad after he died. My office is quiet and not so warm without him lying on my feet. Nobody comes to investigate when I'm making food. His bed is empty.
Honestly he was a difficult dog. He took dislikes to certain people, for criteria we didn't recognize, especially anyone human or canine who came too close to me. He would even bark if one of the family hugged me. He owned me and I was fine with that. Despite his problems, we were very bonded, and I have lost my best friend.