R.I.P. Mac

OK, first Dad cuts off the tip of his finger on Thursday night.

Then, Sunday, I get word my dog Mac isn't doing well. (I've left him at my Mom's house all these years because she's got a big backyard. And a Golden Retriever/Rottweiler mix that weighs 80 pounds needs a big backyard.)

Anyway, I go over there tonight and he's barely able to stand. It's come on pretty suddenly. He just lays there on his side, looking at me with these sad eyes. He always was a very active dog, chasing tennis balls from one end of the yard and back, so seeing him like this is very difficult for me.

Mom told me to be optimistic, it might be a virus he caught. But I'm pretty sure tomorrow morning's trip to the vet will be Mac's final one. He's old. I can't remember exactly how old he is. Mom said 13, but I'm pretty sure he's 14. For a dog that size ... well, he's outlived his life expectancy.

I still remember bringing him home. He was just weaned from his mom, a Golden Retriever. He was so small, I put him in the chest/belly pocket of a pullover windbreaker I was wearing. He snuggled in and fell asleep while I drove him home. I kept him inside for several months. I'd let him sleep with me until he was nearly fully grown.

Over the years, I spent less and less time with him. I'd got weeks without seeing him, even though Mom's house is only a mile away. I regret that. He deserved better from me.

This photo is from about two weeks ago. He's waiting on me to throw a tennis ball ...



He's gone. Vet offered to run tests, but said he was pretty sure it was kidney failure. I didn't want my big fella to be in any more pain, so I opted for ... you know.