I held him and stroked him even when he went to sleep.

Of course, the moment the decision was made, he seemed to be better. It almost made me change my mind. Almost. But I couldn’t bear the thought of him being at home, lying in his own shit, unable to move, in pain and upset.

He explained the procedure but I already knew. I took his collar off. What was the point of that? I stroked him as he went to sleep. I put my head near his and kissed him and told him that everything was OK even if it wasn’t. I stroked his body, not where it was just bone but where there was some sort of flesh, near his belly.

As he passed away, I thought ‘What if I should have kept him longer? Perhaps I should ask them to stop?’

But it was too late anyway. It was undoable.

I felt like the executioner even if it was right. Someone told us about a dog they had and they kept it in pampers for a while. I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t want that as a human but it just seems so wrong for a dog.

As we had walked to the place, I thought about how it was so much easier in the countryside, with a country vet. How much more aware they are of the life and death thing. The vets here, in the city, seem to pander to people who treat them as humans, with all the indignity it comes with.

He is free of pain now. The suffering continues only for those left behind. As always.

As I left I stroked his head, already cold now. I did it for me, I suppose, more than him. But I shall not forget him. V used to say that he was a gentleman. And he was right. I’m sorry that V didn’t see him before he went but, maybe, it’s better to remember him before he became just a skeleton, before he cried in the night through pain, before he would fall over just trying to do a pee.

And does Dino seem more quiet, almost sad? Or is that my humanising projection. I suspect it is. And, for his sake, I wouldn’t want him to be human.

Still, I miss the old gentleman dog all the same.