R.I.P Segewick

"Sweetheart, don't encourage them to give him the big green injection, okay"
Look, nobody wants to put a dog down. I mean this little guy, bastard that he is, did some, if not lovable, then at least quirky things. But the truth is he is old. Too old.
And he isn't going to survive Bulungula. That village has real dogs.
He struggles to get up, has mange, his back legs look painful, and worst of all he has these cancerous growths all over his belly. The final straw was his ear. The whole thing swelled up like a balloon. So even though I felt a slight twinge of guilt, I knew it was for the best. He also certainly didn't help his cause with his nightly incontinence and permanent stinking, fetid gas releases.
With a sad farewell I headed down to the vet to get the job done. It had always been in our planning anyway, I mean, we just don't have space for the kids and a dog. (And Sonja wouldn't let me leave any of the kids behind.)
The examination was done with respectful austerity. I didn't smile or crack any jokes. I know how this works. I kept it solemn and gave the old boy a few strokes and pats.
Things started to go wrong when he tried to bite the vet. No kidding.
Did I just see a flash of defiance in those eyes. Please no. This guy is closer to two decades than one. He has to lock his entire body and hop down the stairs as though he is in a plaster cast.
Second bad sign. The vet asked me (me!) to put a muzzle on him. I mean the dog is dying. What self respecting vet uses a muzzle on a dying dog.
He has to be dying, there is no room for him at the inn. He is dying, right doc?
Once the muzzle was on those cancerous growths calmed me down. They were really big.
No worries said the vet, we can drain this ear, its just a burst blood vessel.
But the cancer doc, the cancer. "Mmmm. These look like normal age related fatty growths, we'll take a quick sample of that to confirm it, but nothing to worry about."
After that I only remember little snippets.
"He's got a nip of arthritis in his hips, but nothing too bad."
"You'd be surprised how long these little guys live for"
"Please sign for this account sir"
And you know what, the little bugger tried to bite him again when I took the muzzle off.
This is terrible. Its a week later and he is snorting and scratching and grunting in the most disgusting way at my feet.
And the bastard. Not only do I now have a fleabag coming up to live with us, but the bugger cost us over a thousand Rand for the visit.
They are going to have to bloody muzzle me.