Mouse's last day

When I got home from work Tuesday night and Mouse didn't greet me at the door, I knew something was wrong.  When I went into the living room and found him wedged in a corner and stuck in a pile of poop, I knew it was time.  I helped him up and outside, did a quick cleanup and went to let him back in, only to discover he'd fallen again because his back legs wouldn't support him.  I got him in, but he didn't want to settle on his bed, so I checked it and discovered it was soaked with urine.  That was when I called the vet and scheduled the appointment.

I spent as much time as I could with him that evening, petting him, talking to him, scritching behind his marvelous, soft ears.  Little Miss Piggie Pie demanded her share of the attention, of course, but I managed to send her off with a toy.  I sang his song to him, and fed him treats, and tried my best to let him know that I loved him.

Wednesday morning I got up, helped Mouse outside, gave him his pain pill and settled him back on a clean bed.  Then I called off work, and the two co-workers with whom I spoke were very sweet and sympathetic.  I did some work for Mom I'd brought home, and eventually it was time to get dressed and go to the vet.  I discovered that Mouse had once more lost control, and frankly, given what all is in my trash can right now, I'm glad it's freezing here.

The vet had squeezed us in after a surgery, since they were closing early, so Mouse and I waiting in the surgery prep room while the doctor finished up surgery on a Goldendoodle.  The vet tech I spoke with claims that Goldendoodles get stupidity from Goldens and bad hair from Poodles.  Mouse wanted to leave, and it broke my heart to see him trying to walk out and knowing that he wasn't leaving ever again.  I petted him and cuddled him and told him how very much he'd meant to me, and finally it was time.

Dr. Mark came in, and I helped the vet tech get Mouse to lie down, and then I petted his head and crooned silly things to him and stayed with him until he was gone.  Then I took off his collar, said my goodbyes to the hospital staff, came home and cuddled Little Miss.

Mouse was with me such a short time, but he was so sweet and silly that I couldn't help but love him.  I'm glad I got him his own set of bowls so he didn't have to eat from hand-me-downs, I'm glad I got to see him bounce like a low-rider, I'm glad he got one last snow and one last visit from Mallie, and despite the sadness I'm feeling, I'm glad he could come to live with me.

The name on his records is Amos, and sometimes I called him Mouse, or Amouse, or Amoos,e or Mr. Mouse, or Mr. Moose, but I always used his "real name" when I sang to him.  It's probably blasphemous, but I don't care--just replace one word in the following song with my dog's name, and you'll know what I sang: