Goonie (the fitting nickname, instead of his legal name, Gunther) has been going downhill steadily for the past few weeks. His hindquarters were slowly giving out -- Weimaraners often have problems with hip dyplasia, and Goonie was no exception. He spent most of his time sleeping or lying on his pad, watching the household goings-on. He would look at me or Husband and wag his tail: "Mom, I'm hurting! Can't you do something? No? Well, I love you, anyways..."
This morning, he began bleeding from the mouth. His hindquarters were nearly completely immobile. (Try hauling a 100-pound Weimaraner outside before he soils himself inside...it's almost impossible to do it in time.) We talked it over -- no more suffering. We had him put down, and buried him tonight.
I have so much to get done...yet I spent a lot of time this afternoon just sitting by Goonie, petting him and telling him what a good dog he was. I dug the hole myself in the herb garden. He lies peacefully not far from where he liked to sniff among the strawberry plants. I've put a Russian sage there, and will plant some more things tomorrow, when I can manage to look at the spot without weeping.
Goonie would have loved to bake bread, like these Wegman Weimaraners. (In fact, he would have been the one getting flour on his nose, and trying to eat the raw dough.)
He was a Very Good Dog.
Goonie (on the right) and his housemate Buck. Rest now, sweet puppy.
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