Bye bye, Bubba.

I tried to make Wednesday a good day for Wellington. He had tasty meals of wet and dry food and several cookies (a.k.a. dog biscuits). We also went on two leisurely walks. Amazingly enough, the steady rain that began on Tuesday night’s walk let up for both our morning and lunch walks on Wednesday. It was beautiful. In the 60s outside—unseasonably warm for December, particularly after all the cold weather we had last week. While we were inside, Wellington mostly slept. But I stayed close by. I practiced my songs for the Christmas Cantata, and I just sat next to him and petted him.

When it was time to go to the vet, my friend Jen came with me. The vet was the same one Wellington and I had seen last Saturday. He asked what was going on, and when I told him, he agreed that things would probably continue to go downhill and that this was probably the right decision.

The procedure itself was heart-wrenching. I brought a blanket from Wellington’s bed, so he’d have a familiar scent when he lay down. The vet and his assistant brought a blanket that Wellington would eventually rest on once the sedative kicked in.

First the vet gave Wellington the tranquilizer. When he injected it, Wellington yelped and lunged, and I felt terrible. Then the vet gave him some treats, and Wellington was so happy. He ate at least 5 treats, and then he sniffed around for more. Happy boy. And then the sedative kicked in, and he gradually lay down on the blankets, with his head in the blanket I brought from home. I tried to hold back my tears and talk to him, comfort him as the sedative was taking effect. The vet had said that once it fully kicked in, Wellington wouldn’t know what was happening, so I tried to keep talking to him, so he’d hear a familiar voice as he drifted off. And then it hit me: Wellington’s special song that Trent made up years ago.

Wellington … Wellington
He is a cute little dog.
Wellington … Wellington
He is a cute little dog.

I sang through it 4-5 times and petted his head. He was breathing pretty deeply, his eyes half shut. Then the vet shaved off a bit of his fur, so he could inject the stuff that would put him to sleep. I kept petting and talking and singing. And crying. I’ve never experienced anything like that. Eventually, his breaths became quieter; the vet checked for a heartbeat, and there was none.

The vet told me to take as much time as I needed, so I spent several more minutes with Wellington, petting him and hugging him. And then I removed his collar. I apologized to him for taking it because I know he likes to wear it. I told him we’d take him back to Kansas to his favorite park soon—we’re planning to spread his ashes there.

It was really hard seeing him lying there, not moving or breathing. That’s a sound I’ll miss—Wellington’s heavy sighs when he’s in a deep sleep. His little hush puppy face, and his soft bologna ears. He was a good dog, and we’ll miss him.