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So it is with such an empty feeling that I report now that Gimlet - who morphed into Mr. Gibbles during the past 18 months - is gone. He was such a mystery dog - we had no idea how old he ever really was - and since last fall, he had fallen into one health problem after another, one by one. In recent months, he became incontinent, was diagnosed as pretty much senile, and of late wasn't eating well and, since he had a collapsed trachea, had developed a cough that refused to let him have much of a quality of life. Today, when he resisted his favorite food, in addition to horking up bloody bile, we knew it was time. The poor old guy. One of the sweetest creatures I could ever hope to get to know and love.
Folks, he had become almost impossible to take care of, but we just kept him going as long as we could. We were being awakened at 2, 3, 4 in the morning, since he couldn't hold his water. We were cleaning up messes on the carpet every day (as well as in certain areas of our apartment building, which always sent us into a panic). If he wasn't pissing, he wasn't eating; if he wasn't eating, the was vomiting; if he wasn't coughing, he was heaving. We would hand feed him, had him at the vet, jeez, like twice a month ... but when I saw the look in my wife's eyes this morning, I knew something was terribly wrong.
So, allow me this: He was a great old boy and I don't regret a moment of all of the struggles. "Struggles?" I've been blessed 20 times over to have the privilege of having this wonderful dog live with me. He was a pal from the moment we met.
As for myself, I'm really under the weather battling asthmatic bronchitis right now, but this hurts much, much worse. I only had 18 months with Mr. G, and all of you should get so lucky. But I gotta admit, I'm so numb right now.