It's over.
I haven't been so near hysterics since the death of my father; of course, I didn't actively make the choice to have him put to sleep, either. I left the church at about 12:45 (the appointment was for 1:30), went home and found to my surprise that he hadn't pooped on the couch again (he'd done it no less than four times in the three days since I'd made the call). I got out his leash, took him for one last walk around the short block, at the end of which he was visibly shaky in the rear end. He was still a little frisky at times, which made me doubt a little, but then I would see other things that made me realize that no, this was the right decision. He pooped twice on the walk (small ones - we had been told that it hurt for him to clench long enough to get it all out), and peed no less than three times. Shaggy knew that something was up, but it hasn't quite clued in to him that Pastor won't be back.
When we got home, I put Pastor in the van and went in for the younger two; they were a little sombre, but were okay. We'd all realized that this had to happen - no one in the house was fighting to, you know, "just make him comfortable!" or anything like that. #1Son was picked up at a friend's, and The Kat joined us at the vet's place. It was in an exam room that we'd been in many times before, but with a blue plaid blanket on the floor... which Pastor immediately tangled in his feet because he couldn't lift them far enough off the ground to step over it.
The vet himself seemed a little cold and dispassionate, but I think he needed to be. He knew what we were going through, and told us several times that it was the right choice - behind the energetic pacing and the apparent excitement at being there again, he could see the weakness in Pastor's legs, the shakiness, the cataracts, and everything else. He gave Pastor a sedative which took a few minutes to calm him down - Pastor bared his teeth one last time at the sharp thing in his rump, and then went back to pacing. The Kat arrived and he sat. Pastor hasn't been able to sit in almost a year, but he sat when she came in, and gradually he laid down - the sedative also had a powerful painkiller in it, so his hips didn't hurt any more. The doc came back with a nurse, and they sat at his rump, looking for the vein on his back leg. I took his head in my lap, unable to look, and just rocked back and forth repeating, "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay..." I found myself saying I was sorry to the vet at one point, but he said, "Don't be; if you'd had a human friend for thirteen years and he was at this point, you'd be the same way." I looked up when he moved away from Pastor's leg, and Pastor growled softly, twice, and then... nothing. The vet checked both sides with his stethoscope and simply said, "He's gone." He told us to take our time, and I just sat there for a few minutes, thinking.
The kids have never really cried with sadness. They get quiet and a little red in the eyes, but have never really let loose with a flood of tears, as far as I can remember. Tears, with them, are more associated with anger. They sat or stood in the room and let me bawl; for once, I cried, and The Kat was the one mostly keeping it together. When it came time to leave, Sir Goobs reached down for one last pat, but he was the only one. I shook the vet's hand and he repeated that we'd made the right choice and had probably done it at the right time - so many people hold on too long, I guess, and wait until the animal's quality of life is almost nil before making the final decision. While Pastor had a little bit of energy left, it wouldn't have lasted long; his bowel and urinary issues would have gotten worse, and we would have had to watch him literally die by inches. Instead, I get to remember the dog that still peed like a girl (squatting, not with a lifted leg) and could shoot it out between his forepaws if he angled it right (that was his last one, right outside the office).
The house will not be the same without him. Over the next few weeks, we'll gradually vacuum up all the black hair that he would shed everywhere, and nothing will replace it. Shaggy will be lost without him, and we have no plans to replace Pastor with another 'second dog' at this time - more and more, I imagine Shaggy will be sleeping in our room (both dogs did, for a few months, before late fall made the couch more attractive to Pastor), and we are hoping we'll actually get to grooming him a bit more pointedly. I will miss the jingle of Pastor's collar, the click of his nails on the laminate floor, and the tail that could sweep everything off a coffee table with one swing. I will miss the walks, the games, and so many other things that, even as I think about them, I realize faded months or even years ago.
Goodbye, Pastor - catch those rabbits, finally.