I hate the Rainbow Bridge poem...

...only when it applies to me.

I'm sitting here, just zoning, a little bit in shock.

Mr. Dog went crazy Sunday morning. We use the pantry as a kennel, as he's gotten into more mischief the more age plagues him. All Saturday night, every time I walked past the pantry, he'd throw himself against the door.

I put him out right after the first time, thinking he really had to go to the bathroom, even though he'd just been inside for about an hour, more than a little disturbed at that kind of insistence.

He did this several times, and I put him out each time. A 6:00 a.m., I brought him in and went to bed.

Between the hours of 6:00 a.m. and 8:00 a.m., he managed to chew the coat peg, losing four front teeth and snapping one of his canines in half, and clawed the door, leaving 1/4" and deeper gashes. There's blood smeared toward the TOP of the door, on the jambs, and some dripped on the floor. It's like he was trying to tunnel his way through the door.

He's too big to exhibit aggressive behavior, and he's 11 years old. For months now, I've watched old age creep in and monkey with his mind, taking away that good behavior he'd always exhibited and replaced it with the desire to raid ever trash can, pull food off the counters, and come right in from outside and run to his favorite spot to immediately eliminate his bladder/bowel contents. Without warning, I went from wondering to knowing what I had to do, and did it, and it hurts.

We waited to leave the vet's office until he was well and truly in dreamland. I couldn't stay for the end. I hope he's found my father, who was always quite fond of Mr. Dog. The kids and I are all crying intermittently. He's been in our life for 9 years, and 2 years before that with someone else. The kids used him as a pillow while playing video games. He couldn't catch, but he could stand between you and someone he didn't like while out on a walk. He didn't know a lot of tricks, but his curly-cue tail managed to swing in a large circle. Our house isn't childproof; it's tail proof. When he went to "shake," his bulky frame slid down on the hardwood floor if he tried to get in a tripod position, so he'd roll onto his back and give you his paw in lieu of your traditional "shake."

Goodbye, my friend. You're meeting my next favorite dog about now, and I'm sure Dad will teach you how to hunt pheasant. You'll be incredible at it, just like you were with everything else. Thanks again for your big size and loud bark to keep us safe, and thanks so much for not letting that raccoon eat my face the night we surprised him on the porch. I'll never forget you knocking him down out of midair with your nose on its way to tear my eyes out. I will miss you so much.