He wasn't mine, I never saw him for more than a couple hours at a time, and yet this is one of the most challenging euthanasias I've been through.
He touched a place in my heart that hasn't been used in a while. He was special from that first time he walked through the clinic door. He and his owners came to us just a couple months ago because their other clinic was closing and the boy needed a reliable doctor to fight for him. We've been trying our damndest to provide him with relief from seizures, but nothing has worked. He'd start a new drug, have no seizures for days at a time then he would start to have grand mal cluster seizures again. One of his owners would call in tears asking if there's anything we can do, and we'd eventually find a new drug, a new supplement, a new something...
Today he came in for that final visit. I stepped in to the room to say my good-byes and the big blue boy shoved his head into my face. I told him what a good boy he is, how brave he's been, and that he's the most beautiful setter I've ever met. He obliged me for a couple seconds and then began pacing again. Watching him so clearly uncomfortable with... everything... made it almost bearable. I told his owners how damn sorry I am, how badly I feel that we couldn't help him. They'd done everything anyone's ever suggested that *just might* have helped. They'd exhausted all options. This was the last gift they could give him.
Rest well beautiful blue boy. You've given everyone you met something to remember--Don't dwell on the past, don't worry about the future--just live in the now. I'm sorry your body failed you, and I'm sorry we couldn't help you. I'll remember you forever, as the bravest dog I've ever met.