This will be a sad one.

This past Thursday marked 6 months since I put Bela down and I've had a hard time bringing myself to write about it.

The day I brought Bela home in February 2005. She was 1.

In October of last year, Bela began to develop a mass on one of her legs. It didn't seem to cause her pain, but the mass was solid so I knew it wasn't fluid. I took her to the vet for x-rays, but the first thing out of the vet's mouth when she saw her was "oh no." X-rays came back with what she expected. On her recommendation I took Bela to a cancer specialist where she spent an entire afternoon getting a bunch of fancy tests to see where we were at.

What we got back was aggressive osteosarcoma, bone cancer. We had several options for treatment: radiation, chemo, and amputation. The estimated cost was $7,000 for the initial round of treatment and surgery. I was told most dogs would have about 6 months at this stage, despite treatment. The thought of her sick from chemo and recovering from an amputated limb for her final months didn't appeal to me. I got her a prescription for pain meds and decided that I would just bring her home and do my best to help her be comfortable for her remaining time. The next couple months, Bela got to do whatever the hell she wanted. She slept on the couch all day, she ate from the table. I bought all the best treats I could find... bacon-wrapped peanut butter biscuits, duck jerky.

By Christmas, Bela spent her entire day like this:

I made a special place for her on the couch where she would sleep all day. She would get up exactly twice to go to the bathroom. After being on a strict meal time routine her entire life, she was now free-fed. Sometimes she would eat a bit after going outside. She had lost about 15 pounds. Her tumor was the size of a baseball now.

The first week of January, I called my mom for help. I couldn't even speak when she answered, I just cried. To this point I had felt that Bela would let me know when it was time, that there would be some indication. But now I felt terrible guilt. She had deteriorated significantly over those last few weeks. The skin around her tumor had started to rupture and it was evident that it was causing her pain. I had begun to realize that I was not ready for her to go and I couldn't fight that it was influencing me. There wasn't any way that I would be able to make the arrangements, so I asked my mother to help. She called back 15 minutes later with a date, time and location. She agreed to go with me.

This is the last picture I took of Bela.

January 5, 2012.

Bela lay in the back seat while my mom checked us in. She weighed 22 pounds, less than half her normal weight. You can see her tumor, it was bad. They brought us around the back to a private entrance to a special room set up for this sort of thing. They had a blanket laid out, several toys and pillows, and a giant jar of treats. I brought Bela in and she greeted the two vet staff. They began giving her treats. Bela ate more food in the next few minutes than she had in the past week. She just kept scarfing them down. While she ate, the vet staff talked to me about the procedure and what to expect. They explained that every dog is different so even a healthy dog's reaction couldn't be predicted. They talked about convulsions, her body evacuating, and other unpleasant things. They anticipated having difficulty administering the shot due to her low blood pressure. Having such a large tumor contributed to the possibility of complications.

It took several minutes for Bela to relax, and they began the procedure. I was instructed to hold Bela in a side hug to prevent her from lashing back at the vet staff administering the shot in her back leg. As expected, it took several attempts to find a vein. When they finally did, they were only able to administer part of the shot. Bela immediately went limp, and I let her lay down. She was still breathing, but her eyes were closed. I laid down next to her until the vet could try again. She was successful this time. Bela's breathing stopped immediately. They checked for a heartbeat. She was gone.

I buried my face in her neck and sobbed (something I subjected her to on more occasions than I care to admit). But this time it wasn't comforting at all. She wasn't my dog anymore, she was just an object. I took her collar off and left the room. Looking back, I regret leaving so quickly, but I knew if I didn't I'd have a harder time doing so.

It's taken me a long time to work out how I feel about the whole thing. Bela was the most significant and consistent part of my life for 7 years and saying good-bye to her was hard, of course. But the part the just ruined me was the thought that she might be confused about what was going on. She obviously knew that something was wrong with her leg. The thought of her being in pain, and not knowing why or what was happening makes me very sad. She and I were a team, a pack. It's something that makes the dog/person relationship unique. I assume that she looked to me for any answers I was able to give her. In those final moments, all I could feel was the weight of having to make the choice to end her life, and I expect I'll continue to carry that weight.

Everyone thinks their dog is the best dog. Well I had the best dog.