This morning we had to take Rusty to the vet to have him put to sleep.
Rusty lived with Kate's mum and dad in Cornwall. While they owned a pub on one floor, with a big field out back he could run in, all was good.
When Kate's parents moved to a pub where they lived three floor up Rusty started to show his age and struggled with the stairs.
We brought Rusty up to live with us and he was very happy.
Having been raised in pubs and around other people and other animals the lovable temperament of the Golden Retriever was amplified.
In recent years, as he's got older, he'd been taking medication daily to assist with pain in his back legs and hips. More and more often he was struggling to get up and sometimes his back legs would give out on him. The vet said that, given he was 14 years old, pain medication was really all they would recommend.
Last night he collapsed and couldn't get up. Kate and I sat up with him all night. He slept on and off but any time he tried to get up his legs gave way.
We hoped this was just a temporary thing and that on waking up in the morning he'd be bouncing around like a puppy. Hoped but honestly knew this wasn't likely.
We spoke to the vet early this morning and they advised us it was time to bring him in.
Because of the isolation instructions given to the UK just the night before, the veterinary practice, where possible, were asking people to stay in their vehicles in the car park and they would come out and see animals. In a way, this worked out a calmer ending for Rusty.
The vet gave Rusty an injection to sedate him, Kate and I sat with him in the back of her car until he went to sleep.
Lots of people knew Rusty. Kids grew up with him, friends looked after him and anyone that visited got covered in his hair and slobber.
On the odd occasion Rusty would escape and we'd had phone calls from neighbours asking us to come get him.
I have cried a lot today, triggered by little things.
I'll miss you Rusty.
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