And just like that…

We were told we had eight to twelve hours. We woke up in the Charleston, SC hotel while visiting his boy, James, and I knew Spud was off. He has traveled with me literally across the country, and up and down the eastern seaboard a dozen times and for months on end so he's a champ when it comes to traveling. But on waking in Charleston this time he didn't nuzzle his head between my legs for his ear scratch and full body massage. It's my way of helping his arthritic body wake up while also checking him for lumps and bumps. His ear flaps looked pale to me, too. When he refused breakfast I started making phone calls.

Two years ago we had to make an emergency stop at Bee's Ferry Vet after Simon drank too much sea water. It was unofficially salt water intoxication (he rebounded just fine after a push of fluids.) Anyway, I had an in with a local vet.

An X-ray showed nothing of particular interest. His CBC showed a drop in his hematocrit from 40 on October 2 to 34 on October 14. Not a particularly big drop. But still. And so I agreed to go down the street to the Charleston Referral Veterinary Center for an ultrasound. For some reason before the ultra sound was performed the vet told me he could see in the X-ray that the hemangiosarcoma had metastasized to his liver. And his liver lobes. And that there were many. Hours later the ultrasound confirmed a bleed in two tumors. Surgery was not really an option as there were just too many tumors. Yes, we might be able to remove the bleeders. Yes, it would be invasive and stressful and major for a dog in his condition and the surgery would not provide a cure.

"If it were my boy," said Dr. Elliston, "I would not pursue surgery. I'd let him go." Hard as it was to hear, I agreed with him in principal. I couldn't put him down - make that call to euthanize him - then and there. I wanted him out of the hospital scenario. I wanted him with family so I sprung him. I don't think the doctor was pleased.

Spud'd had sub q fluids and seemed somewhat revived since bringing him in. I picked up my son and husband and after

much deliberation on what we thought Spud could handle, we drove out to Folly's Beach. I wanted a few pictures of Spud and James. As hard as I know it was for James to have some last photos taken I knew he'd appreciate them later. From the beach we walked a short distance to an outdoor restaurant that allows dogs and had dinner. We shared with Spud anything he might have an interest in- ribeye, ice cream, bacon. In what we thought was the final

countdown, anything was fair game.

We had James gather some

overnight provisions and took him back with us to the hotel. At least he and Spud could cozy up on the queen bed and spend their last night together. It's hard enough to watch your dog's end of life decline. But to see my son's heart break, too, was unbearable.

Sleep was sparse. Tears were plentiful.

Sunday morning Spud was largely unresponsive. His eyes were glassy. He refused any food. For three hours or more we cried and hugged and passed unsure glances back and forth- is it time to take him in? Should we go now before he becomes uncomfortable or

visibly in pain?

"Maybe it's time," I said to James. "I don't want him to suffer even a little."

"But what if it's not time?" James said.

So we took him down in the hotel elevator and walked slowly outside.

He peed and pooped almost immediately. I called our holistic vet as we walked. She said that more and more pet parents were letting their dogs go naturally. That bleeding out could be a very painless and peaceful way to go. Spud would get progressively more tired and eventually just go to sleep. We walked a bit further and found a picnic table in the shade of a large tree. Spud settled there. And we did too. For hours we lounged under that tree. We took turns fetching fresh ice for

him. Spud was comfortable. Content to be with us. At times he starred into the distance with glassy eyes. At times he watched us. He never put his head down to rest though I know he was tired. His belly was round but his breathing was good. As the sun started going down panic crept in. You know how everything seems scarier in the night? Problems seem bigger? Tears started leaking out again. We were scared but not giving up. Spud walked back to the hotel lobby and then needed a break. James stayed with him as he laid down to rest and I went to the room to drop some things

off and settle Simon, our four year old golden doodle, in the room. I thought we might need to put Spud on a luggage dolly to bring him upstairs but he got up off the lobby floor under his own steam and walked to the elevator and then to the room. We carefully got him up on the bed to sleep with James. It was a long night. But each time I got up, Spud quickly lifted his head to see what was going on. At some point in the night James got up to fetch more ice from the fourth floor. I could hear Spud crunching it. All night I fluctuated between half-sleep and listening for signs and crying and wondering if I should get up and say goodbye again.

Monday morning was another slow start. I got peanut butter and hard boiled eggs from the breakfast bar and we started offering it to Spud. First he had some peanut butter. James and I looked at each other with undisguised hope. Then he ate some of the egg. After a little break James offered him some leftover pizza from our dinner the night before. He scoffed down three slices. We were buoyed. We took him downstairs and out to 'our' picnic table under the tree. When landscapers came we wanted to get out of there. Spud jumped into the back of the car like a youngster. We drove a couple of blocks to Brittlebank Park overlooking the Ashley River. He hopped out of the car as easily as he had hopped in. We spread a sheet and towel under some huge pines and settled in. Spud got up to great several visitors. Trotted off to explore and mark some territory.

My husband, Lee, went off to get us lunch. Spud shared in everything. We lounged there all day. We talked about the probability that this was a rally.... but if not we'd have to rethink the foods we were giving him. We nodded. We knew. But we were clinging to hope, to being an anomaly, a one in a million.

Over the eleven years that Spud has been a part of our family he has given us innumerable gifts but that day would be Spud's final gift to us. His happiness and love was undeniable.

Tuesday he was back to critical. We were meant to be out of the hotel and heading home. We agonized over what to do; book another night and see what happens? Drive home and hope he made it? Send Lee back on a flight and drive with James on Thursday? Drive now and fly James up for the weekend? The roller coaster bore a wide pendulum. None of the choices screamed yes. And my heart was physically tortured and aching. Watching James agonize. Watching Spud fight. Watching Lee react to our pain and his own. James struggled with being with Spud to the very end and being sure that the best was done for Spud. "Someone has to tell me what to do. I can't make the decision. What if it's not the right one," James said.

In the end we decided Spud would be better at home, in his own familiar surroundings. So Lee and I hit the road at three in the afternoon. It was a crushing departure leaving James alone.

Lee drove 14 hours straight through. We stopped at the house so Robert could see him. Spud thumped his tail twice on seeing him. Danielle had seen him prior to our leaving and couldn't bring herself to see him at his end.

Then we went to our vet. She came out to the car to do an assessment. She said she understood if we wanted to bring him home and let him go naturally. And that's what James wanted.... because what if it wasn't time like it hadn't been on Sunday? "But," she added, "if you want to let him go now I would support that decision."

When we got home Spud couldn't sit up. We made a sling from the sheet he was laying on and Lee and I carried him into the house and put him on his bed. He continued to watch us.

My sister, Kimberly, drove down from RI bringing us sustenance and support. Again, Spud's tail thumped on seeing her. Lee and Robert had to go to work for a little while. Kimberly and I laid down on either side of Spud and cried and slept and cried.

At some point in the afternoon Spud tried to get up. I thought maybe he needed to go out. But he stumbled and couldn't get his legs underneath him. We lifted the blanket beneath him to create a sling but he went down. His breathing got heavy. Labored. Stressed. I made the call. Dr. Merkant said to bring him in but I couldn't do it. "Can you come out to the house?" I asked. She checked her schedule and said she could be out after five thirty. That was over two hours away. Two long hours. "Let me check my schedule and see if I can rearrange some patients. I'll call you right back"

Spud's breathing leveled out a bit. When Dr. Merkant called back she said, "Dr. McGruder will come out to you. It's her day off so she needs to stop by the office for a few things and then she'll be over."

"Thank you," was all I could muster.

I called Lee. I called Robert. They both left work and raced home. And I called James. "It's time," I said. "He's breathing hard. The vet is coming to the house."

My heart was crumbling even more. "I have to ask you another question, James." I paused trying to compose myself. "Do you want Spud to be buried here or cremated?" It killed me to ask but I felt it was important for James to make, or at least have a say in the decision. I could hear Kimberly's sobs. "I don't know," he said.

"You don't need to decide right now. Give it some thought. The vet will be here in about forty-five minutes." I told him. "Do you want to FaceTime with Spud?"

"Yeah. In a little," he said.

"Ok. Do you want to do that before the vet comes or when she's here?" I asked.

"Not when she's there."

"Alright. I'll call you back in a few."

My cell phone rang. It was the vet's office. An accident on Rt. 95N was creating a delay. But I already knew that because Lee and Robert had hit the rubber-neck side of it on Rt. 95S.

Spud lay on the floor with his head on a pillow. His breathing seemed more normal. He didn't seem to be in distress. But I knew there was no coming back from this.

I FaceTimed James. Have you ever had to watch a boy say his final goodbye to his best friend?

James was twelve when he fell in love with Spud. When he was a pup, James got up in the night to take Spud out for months on end, school nights and all. He dashed around the house with paper towels cleaning up Spud’s accidents.

"Oops James, Spud peed," I'd say. And James would dash for the roll of paper towels and spray cleaner and take care of it. He never shrugged off the responsibility and he never, not once, complained. And Spud took care of James, too. James had night terrors and high anxiety as a child. Spud was his rock. I'm not sure if the boy raised the dog or the dog raised the boy. And now, eleven years later, we were at the end.

James came on FaceTime and we positioned the phone so he could see Spud. "Hi Spud," James said. Spud lifted his eyes to the phone and thumped his tail. Soon the vet showed up. James continued the FaceTime. There were five of us encircling Spud plus the vet and the vet tech. My heart was exploding with pain. She gave him an injection for sleep. His breathing mellowed. "Goodbye Spud," I heard James say. All I could do was rock back and forth in anguish. "Find peace, dear Spud. Find peace," I whispered to him. I buried my face in his fur, breathed in deeply.

"Alright," the vet said. "I'm going to give him the injection now." A few more breaths. She placed her stethoscope to his chest. Listened. "He's gone."

Lee and Robert dug a grave for Spud in his doodle fort; a place beneath the umbrella pine where he loved to lay in the cool dirt. We turned on the lights that encircle the tree year round but which are only, until now, lit for the Christmas season. And we gathered around when he was laid to rest and toasted him with a shot of vodka made from potatoes.

"To Spud. The sweetest potato there ever was