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Our Border Collie, Patch, was 17 years old when he died from a stroke. That's a good age for that breed. For about three weeks before he died, we could see he was slowly deteriorating, but he didn't seem to be in pain, and he was still eating well and socialising, although he didn't really want to go out for long walks. We decided that once he went off his food, or couldn't get to his feet, we'd call in the vet so that he could be put to sleep in his own surroundings.
It didn't get to that stage, thankfully. He went outside to relieve himself one night, and coming back into the house, his legs gave way under him. It was late at night, so we got him indoors between us. When he flopped down on the floor, I got some cushions and sat down with him, with his head cradled in my lap. He loved chocolate, but of course, it's toxic for dogs, and we'd never given him more than a tiny bit. I sent Tony out to get some for him, and I fed it to him bit by bit, and talked to him all the time. I sat there on the floor, with his head in my lap, until he passed away the next morning.
I kept either talking to him or stroking him, so he knew he wasn't alone, and that he was loved. Then we asked our grown up sons to help us to bury him under his favourite tree in the garden. He used to sit under the plum tree on warm summer days, so it seemed right that it should be his final resting place. I'm glad we did that for Patch - it was small repayment for the years of pleasure and companionship he gave us.
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