And so it ends
Near this spot Are deposited the Remains
Of one Who Possessed Beauty
Without Vanity,Strength without Insolence,
Courage without Ferocity,
And all the Virtues of Man
Without his Vices.
~ Lord Byron
I lack Byron's eloquence, but I doubt he'd begrudge me his words to mark the passing of my beautiful boy Griffon. Friday morning, while coming down the stairs the same way he did every morning, Griffon tripped at the bottom of the stairs, hind legs giving out on him. That's all I thought it was a the time, though he did refuse his morning treat. He rested all day. By the evening, it was obvious he was breathing with difficulty. He only got up to move to be closer to me or to drink water. He refused food.
Saturday, he grew progressively worse. I phoned the vet, who was on his way out of town not to return until the next day. I could bring Griffon to an emergency clinic, but hope forced me to wait. That evening, Griffon collapsed on the stairs of the deck, half on and half off. I had to lift my 90-pound armful onto the deck and stroke his head until he was strong enough to stand. When he finally came inside and tried to drink water, his hindlegs slipped up toward his front and he fell into a sit.
That night I slept on the floor with my big blond boy.
The vet phoned me Sunday morning, telling me he'd been in a car wreck on his way out of town and was at the car rental place and would phone as soon as he was back in town. I sat with Griffon and talked to and petted him. I knew it was the end, but part of me hoped his collapse was due to something innocuous and easily fixed. Griffon no longer panted. Instead, he stretched out his head and breathed heavily and rapidly through his nose. His pulse raced, and it sounded as though he was congested.
Finally, the vet arrived at last. Griffon struggled to his feet for the long car ride--the most interest he had shown for anything in two days. He adores the vet. Once we had him in good light, we could see his gums and tongue were nearly white. Quick tests showed the mess was in his heart and lungs. The vet thought Griffon could survive another week or two but, and this was the kicker, he would get no better. My big, active boy would not be able to stand, or only briefly. He wouldn't eat. The vet said, "he's happy with you." But I knew better. I knew my boy.
And so I performed my final duty, and held him while the doctor administered Griffon's final shot.
I miss my big blond boy.
I pulled off all of my old photos from this PC. When I get my external drive back I will post a picture of Griffon, a beautiful German shepherd dog, 13 years old, 29 inches at the shoulder and 90 pounds of muscle and smiles. His coat was a golden sable, meaning very light and ticked with black, not the saddle most people associate with GSDs. He was the best bed mate I ever had...for sleeping...he never kicked.
Goodbye, love. Wait for me at the Bridge.
Of one Who Possessed Beauty
Without Vanity,Strength without Insolence,
Courage without Ferocity,
And all the Virtues of Man
Without his Vices.
~ Lord Byron
I lack Byron's eloquence, but I doubt he'd begrudge me his words to mark the passing of my beautiful boy Griffon. Friday morning, while coming down the stairs the same way he did every morning, Griffon tripped at the bottom of the stairs, hind legs giving out on him. That's all I thought it was a the time, though he did refuse his morning treat. He rested all day. By the evening, it was obvious he was breathing with difficulty. He only got up to move to be closer to me or to drink water. He refused food.
Saturday, he grew progressively worse. I phoned the vet, who was on his way out of town not to return until the next day. I could bring Griffon to an emergency clinic, but hope forced me to wait. That evening, Griffon collapsed on the stairs of the deck, half on and half off. I had to lift my 90-pound armful onto the deck and stroke his head until he was strong enough to stand. When he finally came inside and tried to drink water, his hindlegs slipped up toward his front and he fell into a sit.
That night I slept on the floor with my big blond boy.
The vet phoned me Sunday morning, telling me he'd been in a car wreck on his way out of town and was at the car rental place and would phone as soon as he was back in town. I sat with Griffon and talked to and petted him. I knew it was the end, but part of me hoped his collapse was due to something innocuous and easily fixed. Griffon no longer panted. Instead, he stretched out his head and breathed heavily and rapidly through his nose. His pulse raced, and it sounded as though he was congested.
Finally, the vet arrived at last. Griffon struggled to his feet for the long car ride--the most interest he had shown for anything in two days. He adores the vet. Once we had him in good light, we could see his gums and tongue were nearly white. Quick tests showed the mess was in his heart and lungs. The vet thought Griffon could survive another week or two but, and this was the kicker, he would get no better. My big, active boy would not be able to stand, or only briefly. He wouldn't eat. The vet said, "he's happy with you." But I knew better. I knew my boy.
And so I performed my final duty, and held him while the doctor administered Griffon's final shot.
I miss my big blond boy.
I pulled off all of my old photos from this PC. When I get my external drive back I will post a picture of Griffon, a beautiful German shepherd dog, 13 years old, 29 inches at the shoulder and 90 pounds of muscle and smiles. His coat was a golden sable, meaning very light and ticked with black, not the saddle most people associate with GSDs. He was the best bed mate I ever had...for sleeping...he never kicked.
Goodbye, love. Wait for me at the Bridge.