Today I had to take my old friend Clovis to the vet for the last time. He died with me stroking his head with one hand while he ate gravy bone biscuits from the other.
He’s been with us for 16 years, a loyal if mostly undemonstrative friend. He was always his own dog — very much ‘take me as you find me’. But he had a very special character and has been a wonderful member of the family. I’ve known for some time that today was coming. We’ve tried a range of drugs, none of which made any difference to his failing mobility. In the end it seemed kindest to let him go.
I know I’ve done the right thing. But it hurts all the same.