01/12/13 - 10:43 a.m.

I'm sorry for last night's post. I tried to be nice to everybody all night long, including the receptionist at the all-night pet hospital. Our dog was already gone, and I really don't like thinking about what I had to do afterwards. My girlfriend went off to her friend's house, and she would be wanting to come back home to house without dog bowls or chew toys or...

It was horrible that his problem was that his blood wasn't clotting. The thing you want most is to care for your dog - to know that you got him what he needed. But he was bleeding. He was happy and trotty - and he was bleeding. We went to the vet that night, and the next night, and the next afternoon. And then he died...

He died peacefully. I drove him home, worried that he'd re-open his wound, but he didn't. My girlfriend came downstairs to welcome him home, but he was resting, so we let him keep napping in the back of the car for a little more. After she went back upstairs, he whimpered, and his breathing was heavy. I let him rest some more, and I was glad that she couldn't hear him.

I stroked his back when he whimpered. I joked to my girlfriend that there's dogs who are trained to wake up veterans when they're having bad dreams, but now it was us who were trying to comfort the dog! I brought him upstairs to his favorite spot - on top of the bed with my girlfriend. He flopped down, and we'll always feel good that we got him to his favorite place. There's no other place he would rather have been.

The last thing he ever did was to hang his head over the edge of the bed. And then he struggled to get off the bed - he wanted to get off and get to the floor. He got to the floor -- oh my god it makes me cry just to type this -- and then he rested and he breathed. The breathing became more comfortable and softer and we thought he was doing better, that he was going to be all right. I checked in on him every few minutes -- there were some pills that he'd kept refusing that I was going to give him later that night. He was still breathing, softer and softer, and we started to relax.

And I was typing a diary entry here when my girlfriend screamed out that oh my god, he was dead.

My girlfriend says I'm a prince, because I cleaned up everything. Part of me thinks it'd be better if I don't type this all out. Another part of me thinks its the "get it all out" strategy. I been telling myself that I'm holding it together, until someone says something sympathetic (like the first receptionist at the veterinarian's). It makes me want to cry -- and I say something brave, and then the second I'm alone, there's bawling. It doesn't last long. Intense spurts. It was weird trying to go to bed last night. Too keyed up, from crying.

My girlfriend was on the phone this morning talking to more friends about what happened. "We got home from the vet, and we put him on the bed..." I heard her crying, while I did my own things -- posting to Facebook, writing to friends. Then there were moments when I started bawling here in the next room.

It doesn't last long. Intense spurts...