Used to. A beautiful black labrador/german pointer. He was put down a few weeks ago after diagnosed cancer and artheritus. I haven't really thought about it or talked about it since, or I just start to cry. Don't mean for things to get sad in this sub, just this is the first time I guess I could really talk about it.
The worst part is I go to university during the week and only see him during the weekends. When we first got him, he was a trained gun dog, so he already knew a lot of commands and was pretty obedient and calm. He never barked, would sit in the corner when we were eating, hell, he didn't even know how to play when we first got him, since he was probably beat. It took a few weeks before he cheered up and started to play. I grew up with him through high school and he helped me through that. He never really changed until the last few weeks, he was always a bright, happy dog that would sit and look at you when you're making a sandwich, or if he didn't get out for a while he would get excited and sprint around the back garden. If he wanted out for the 'bathroom', he'd nudge your arm and nuzzle you until you opened the back door. Was picky about food, too. He actually preferred the cheaper, dry food rather than expensive stuff. Other notable features include having one testicle and little hair on his underbelly because the shelter he came from had a concrete floor which wore it away, and maybe also since he was bullied by the other dogs in the home. He also didn't like swimming, since he always got out once the water level reached his hairless belly.
I don't know where I'm going with this, I just want to talk about it I guess. The part that kills me was only being to see him every weekend, seeing his condition deteriorate every time I came home. Towards the end he was throwing up several times a day, not eating anything, but still cheerful as usual, just losing a lot of weight. I remember crying a lot, the first time in probably 10 years when my mother told me he had cancer. A few weeks later, she told me he had gone. One sunday, I stroked him, gave him a big hug and said goodbye for the last time :(.
The next day, according to her, he lay down in front of the fire and couldn't get up. My parents stayed with him for a few hours as a vet came to the house and put him down, when most of the family were away :(. It really kills me that I couldn't have been there, but at least I gave him a big hug before and said my goodbyes. I love that dog. After she told me, it didn't really sink in for a while. When I came into the house, there was no familiar cheery face to greet me, his mats were gone, no clicking of claws on floors, no beating sound of his excited tail when he'd hear scraps of food being dropped into his dish. The only time it really hit me was a few days later when I went into one of the rooms and found that his bed was gone. Sometimes I still go to throw toast crusts into his dish, or be quiet at night to not wake him, without thinking. They've buried him in a large back garden we have, with snowdrops over the grave, but I can't yet bring myself to go to it yet.
I love you buddy, and I miss you :(
sorry, a part of me wanted to talk about it, I've tried not thinking about it for a while