It was another early morning for me and my dear companion. I have become his legs as he battles the final days of his arthritis. Deacon is my 12 ½ year-old Sheltie who’s always been by my side.
The vets and I have done all we can do. Now the meds only manage his pain. The days of improving his condition have past.
His arthritis will not claim his life. This, on the surface, sounds like goodness. Unfortunately, it is far from it. I am faced with the decision of when he’s suffered enough, when his quality of life has diminished to the point where it’s best to let him rest in peace.
It’s hard. He looks at me the same as he’s always done – with anticipation and with loyalty. My friends have told me I’ll know when it’s time, but I’m not sure I will. My brave companion doesn’t show pain. Most dogs don’t. Sure, he limps. He stops and stares at me wanting me to come to him, to pet him, to pick him up. But he doesn’t share the extent his condition. I wish I could tell.
I really hope my friends are correct, and I will eventually know the right time. Deacon remains my dear companion, but now, it's me by his side.