We had to put down our little dog Lucy on Saturday.

We took Lucy five years ago after my mother died. My mother got her, at least partly at my urging, to keep her company after Leah and I got married. Leah and her father took my mother to a rescue organization and Lucy apparently immediately identified my mother as a sucker. So Lucy went home with my mother.

My mother had never been a dog lover, but they quickly adapted to each other. When I went over to visit my mother it wasn’t unusual to find her reclined, watching television with Lucy lying on her lap. Eventually my mother let Lucy sleep on the bed with her. She went to bed before my mother, which allowed her to pick her spot on the bed.

When my mother came to bed, she made Lucy get out from under the covers, but she stayed on the bed, pushing up against my mother’s back as they both slept there.

My mother overfed Lucy. She gradually ballooned to the point that she looked like a football standing on toothpicks. She was always obsessed with food. One of her favorites after we got her was peanut butter stuffed in her bong.

As they both got older, my mother had more trouble hearing and often didn’t realize that Lucy needed to relieve herself outside. That, combined with what I think were some behavioral issues, resulted in Lucy going into the basement and relieving herself inside. That was a problem that continued throughout her life.

She had been in declining health for a while. Our vet told us she had had a heart attack a few months ago, and she had been acting, let’s say, absent minded. She had started wetting her bed a couple of times a night a few weeks ago. She would wake us up scratching and pawing at her bedding, and I had to get up around 3 am or so and change her waterproof pillowcase and the towels we used in her crate. Her bed was also wet by morning.

On Tuesday she had trouble standing up. I took her to the vet on Thursday. The vet said the symptoms I described were consistent with pretty bad arthritis and dementia. She had prescribed medication to try to control the inappropriate urination, but it wasn’t working. It was almost impossible for her to walk on our hardwood floors. She got up and skittered across the floor, falling several times on her way to the water bowl. There she would look around like she had forgotten what she was doing. When I picked her up to take her outside, she struggled frantically to get down out of my arms.

Saturday morning Leah found her headed into a corner of her crate, struggling to get out.  When I took her outside and put her on the ground, she staggered, fell, and wandered aimlessly. When she ran into something, she just kept trying to go straight ahead. She was confused and agitated. We brought her inside and tried to calm her. She would calm down for a while, but then try to get up and walk, again, aimlessly.

Our vet was not available so I had to take her to another vet we have used in the past. I put her in one of our cat carriers. She did OK until I got to the vet’s office, then she started wildly scrambling on her side, scratching at the side of the carrier. I put my hand on her to try to calm her, but she didn’t stop until she had exhausted herself. When I was waiting in one of the examination rooms, I had to hold her in my arms as she went into another fit of wriggling and scratching, and again she didn’t stop until she was exhausted.

The vet confirmed my feeling that it was Lucy’s time. She went peacefully. I brought her home. We buried her in the yard with her peanut butter bong.