He was a little old black and white staffie. He came in as a stray. A nasty testicular tumour, his skin covered with sores, many infected, there was a suspicious lump in his abdomen of another possible tumour, he was very thin.
On admit he was placed on a drip, given some antibiotics, food and water, of which he drank a lot 3 bowls full. He was given some id (easy to digest) and ate ravenously then slept snuggled up on his bed.
The next day his drip was removed and he was just given water and lots of small meals of id. And finally cuddles and walks.
He was a happy soul despite his health not being good, and he slept 99% of the time. He was not in a fit state to be shipped off to the kennels, and was a “3 dayer”.
On Wednesday night following the vets instructions the auxiliary got the little old staffie out for me and held him while l clipped up his leg and inserted an iv catheter. He was happy to settle down on the prep table with lots of fuss.
I looked at the 20ml syringe of yellow pentobarb l had drawn up although he only needed 10ml at most. With a grim sense of humour l always feel overkill was better than underkill, strange the things you think of, terrible to most people but a fact of life in the veterinary world.
We fussed him and talked gently when he settled down for his long sleep, as his heart ceased we gave him one last hug and thought that whatever had happened before at least his last days had been comfortable for him. Then his body was slid into a bag and placed in a cold area.
Life flowed on around us and we stepped back into the role of helping the living, death slipping from our minds, until at different time’s death called to us to meet him again as his helper.