We said good-bye to Kona yesterday. The cancer, which first presented in his right front shoulder and had made one leg nearly useless, had quickly spread to his rear leg and his abdomen. Trying to get around on three legs is hard enough, moving around on two was nearly impossible. The painkillers had ceased to help much, if at all. The last few nights he was moaning all night, even though we had tripled the dosage. Truly, no way to live.
We decided yesterday morning that it was time and called the vet. They said to come in at 3:30. I took off from early from work. After the girls got home from school, we explained what was happening and spent about an hour with him... just petting him, giving him some of his favorite foods. Then we drove to the vet and said our final goodbyes. We all held him as they gave him the medication and let him go.
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My wife and I got Kona seven and half years ago, right after we returned from our honeymoon. The day we picked him up, he was all of 8 weeks old and weighed 13 lbs. He sat on Kelly's lap on the ride home.
As it turned out, I wasn't working those first couple months and we spent our days together while Kelly was at work. I taught him to sit, stand and shake hands. Heeling was never his strong suit through... he always had a mind of his own, but I didn't mind. We took up a near permanent residence at the local dog park and explored the trails near our house. He never did like to play fetch though, every time we tried, he looked at me as if to say, "I guess you didn't want that tennis ball, huh?"
He was always our protector... when Kelly was pregnant and when the kids were babies, he always stood guard around them, giving any new dogs a thorough sniff-test to make sure he could trust them. And he never strayed too far, just in case. On business trips, I never worried about the safety of the house. A big, strong 125 lb dog with a huge bark is the best alarm system money can buy. He particularly hated Jehovah's Witnesses when they came to the door. I always loved that about him.
He never wanted much... just to be around us. No matter what room of the house was occupied, he had to be there too. Even after the cancer, he would hobble around just to be close to us. He had his favorite spots in every room. In front of the fireplace in the living room. Next to my desk chair in my office. In his dog bed in our bedroom. Between the girls' chairs in the dining room... pretty smart actually, this doubled his chances of getting food. On the patio in the backyard. Whenever I was home, the sound of his breathing was a constant, gentle reminder that he was there next to me.
Now it's too quiet. Thanks for seven great years, Kona. We'll miss you.