Albert passed away on February 22, 2013. After some weak days following his diagnosis, he "perked up" and ended up accompanying the kids, Tilly (the pit-boxer mix) and I on our prearranged trip back home to Washington. He had some awful moments on the trip: cholla in his foot pads, a toe caught in the slider door, spraying dog diarrhea all over a hotel room, falling out of the van, looking embarrassed when I had to haul him back up into the van. He just wasn't ready to go in the days leading to our road trip, though, resolutely eating all of his food and stoically reminding me that we had a daily walking date, even if it was only a few feet out the front door.
When we arrived at my mom's house, he happily received all manner of pats and hugs from my family, and promptly laid down. After 1500 miles of indignity and an unknown amount of years of discomfort from his disease, he finally showed how tired he was. I slept with my hand on his head for two nights, and he passed his last days hanging on his dog bed and thumping his tail at Grammy, KK, Shell, Bubba, the kids and I - it might have felt like old times if he could have just made it up the stairs. On the second morning, he barely raised his head.
I was able to take him to the vet clinic I'd brought him to for all of his 12 years, and K, my cousin-the-vet-tech, was right there with us. He submitted to K, the Dr.'s and my request to lay down on the linoleum (courteously cushioned by K) and leaned into me. When the Dr. injected the last shot, he melted into my arms with one big sigh. We all choked a bit on tears when Dr. voiced how perfectly he fell into my arms. I held him for a while, hugged K, and waited to fall apart in the car.
