I told the best of the Norm stories I knew and then I just sort of stopped. The stories were random, but I never reached the conclusion. I realized that I did not tell the story of his final day. I want everyone to know that his last day was a good day.
The first sign that something was wrong was back in May. I returned from vacation. He had a lot of pent up energy. I let him pick his walk route. He generally liked variety in his walks. Many times on the walks, we would pause at an intersection and I'd ask him: "Which way do you want to go?" And I could see him thinking for a few seconds. I'm serious. He would consider his options. Many times this would happen at the intersection of Windmill and Spencer. I'd ask him the question and, after thinking it over, he would choose a route and not always the same route every time.
That evening in May, he wanted to go for a long walk. When he was in better shape, we walked what I used to call "around the block," which is a square with each side one-half mile, making it a two-mile walk. At the point where we were the maximum distance from home, Norm collapsed. It was scary. His breathing got really shallow. I knew there was zero chance he could walk the mile home, so I called a friend for a ride home. The friend brought towels, which we could use as a stretcher, and loaded him in the car.
We got back to my house. I carried him into the house. At first, he still was breathing very shallow. I laid him on the sofa and, after about 30 seconds or a minute, his breathing became wheezing. I took this as a good sign. He was working hard to get oxygen in his lungs. I later took him to the vet and the recommendation was what I expected: no more long walks. His days of walking for three miles or for an hour and half were over.
Norm adjusted to the shorter walks. And the short walks were short. They were standard dog-walk length. Usually only 15 or 20 minutes, although the evening walks in the park were usually over an hour because he could stop and rest in the cool rest a few times each trip.
Looking back, in early September, it is clear now that Norm was going into his final days. He as eating very well, which is something the dying do, although his water consumption seemed to be normal.
On the morning of September 7, we walked the neighborhood with two of his best friends: Mia the pit bull and Boomer the white lab. Actually, it was five of Norm's best friends, including the people walking with us. He only the stamina for one trip through the neighborhood, but, at one point, when Boomer went over to one of the neighbors to get fussed on, Norm turned around and ran to greet the neighbor.
That evening, we went to Desert Bloom Park. Norm loved Desert Bloom. We ran into his friend October, a black pug, and walked with her awhile. I thought he was ready to go home, but when he got to the car, he wanted to walk some more. It was the park and he could rest, so I gave in. He ran -- literally "ran" -- very enthusiastically -- to greet an Indian couple he loved. And then we started walking back to the car.
I could tell something was very wrong. He was vomiting up foam with every step, After the incident in May, I pulled him hard to get back to the car, thinking I just needed to get him home into the air conditioning. I got him into the car. Strangely, instead of just laying down on the back seat, like he always did -- Norm had excellent car manners -- he stood up and stuck his front half in between the two front seats. I could pet him continuously on the short drive home.
When we got home, I could not get Norm to exit the car. He just stayed there wedged between the two front seats. I finally got him in the house and he immediately wanted to be let out into the backyard. So I did. He laid down in the rocks -- no big deal as he used to do that all the time when he was younger -- but when he tried to get up, he couldn't. Again, thinking I just needed to get him into the a/c, I carried him in and laid him down on the tile.
His breathing was shallow. It was getting shallower. And then he was gone.
He was in no pain throughout whole process. He spared me the very tough decision of having to decide if "now" was the time. He spared me the guilt of second guessing: did I do it too soon or did I wait too long. He went out when he was ready to go. And he went out after a great day when he had fun seeing his friends.
Norm left this world on his own terms.
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