Last night — it must have been around four AM — the dog — Leroy — attempted to rise for reasons known only to him, stumbled, fell off the bed, and landed on his side immediately in front of the dresser. Immediately upon hitting the floor he vacated both his bowels and his bladder. This might have been amusing if he weren’t dying.

Rigorous maintenance of his digestive necessities is a point of great pride for Leroy. In his soon-to-be ten years of life the number of his indoor accidents could be counted on both hands, likely with a few fingers to spare. Losing control indoors fills him with a tremendous amount of shame. It took considerable coaxing, once he had regained awareness, to get him back in the bed1 afterwards.

Leroy has a heart condition. The specialist says he has some serious mitral regurgitation and minor tricuspid regurgitation. Fluid builds up in the spaces surrounding his lungs and he has trouble breathing. It’s most pronounced at night. If we listen closely to his breathing there’s an audible click with each intake of air.

This on top of his other problems. He has bilateral hip dysplasia. The space in which his femur articulates with his pelvis doesn’t have the cushioning he’d like and it hurts him something awful. He has very scanty muscle mass over his hips. The individual bones can felt. This can be alleviated through surgery, and indeed he was going to have it, but his heart condition renders him ineligible for anaesthesia. On top of that, he has the worst garbage breath I have ever smelled. Seriously. It doesn’t matter from which end it’s coming — it smells just as bad either way.

He wasn’t supposed to have these sorts of issues. He’s a mutt of indeterminate origin. Somehow, he managed to inherit the health problems of each of his ancestors.

He’s definitely Staci’s dog. She rescued him from an animal shelter in Morgantown when he was just a pup back in 1998. He’s been with her longer than just about anyone, longer than I by a fair margin. I believe that were she forced into a position in which she could save only one of us from some grizzly disaster it would not be an easy decision. I have no problem with that. The love between a woman and her dog is wholly separate from any inter-human relationship.

The inevitable is going to absolutely devastate her. I know she’s aware of the grim reality. I know she’s responsible enough to prevent him from suffering unduly. I do not look forward to that day one goddamned bit.

1 The bed really isn’t large enough for the three of us, but given his health, my working hours, and what the cat had done to his previous bed we just don’t have the heart to tell him no.