Today, about two and a half hours ago my dog Fred was put down.
He was 11 years old. He had a number of benign tumours, particularly a football sized one in front of his left back leg. We had already decided that he would be put down once they started to affect his quality of life. Normally he wasn't a very active dog anyway, so he didn't seem to mind them.
While I wasn't at home to see it apparently he had deteriorated rapidly over the weekend, and when I got back he couldn't walk and was having trouble breathing. I was with him for about an hour before the vet arrived. That photo was taken when the vet had just pulled into the driveway.
It was especially difficult for me because there have been a number of times, when dealing with depression, that I felt that Fred was the only true friend I had. He was always happy to see me, and I was always happy to see him, right up until the end.
Goodbye Fred, I will miss you.
Also it was two and a half hours, I had worked out the time incorrectly.