The vet said he was suffering and that if he made it through the night, they eventually had to bring him out of the anesthesia and there was no guarantee that the seizures would stop. He went out of the small treatment room to do an estimate for me. I sat there alone, in silence and tears, wondering how this could be happening. And then the words of the vet, he's suffering and the picture in my mind of Buddy thrashing around and what this was doing to his brain. The vet came in and I didn't even look at the numbers. I just tried to get the words out-I don't want him suffering. I held his left paw because it was moving and the vet needed to get to his right paw where the IV was. And with my right hand and my head on his, I cried and told him it was all going to be alright. And then he was gone. 

I stayed with him alone for a time, took off his collar, kissed him and left in utter shock.
I came home and of course the house is so silent. I never realized how much I talked to Buddy and how much time we spent doing the routine duties of the day. His name turned out to be more than a name but a description. He was my companion, my friend, my confidante and a great listener-my Buddy.

I included some recent photos of Buddy. Yes the years and the diabetes and cataracts took their toll. But he was just the funniest, cutest, mischevious Buddy that you could find.
 

A Recent Picture of Buddy