She was 15 1/2 years old. My wife and I got her as a puppy, not long after we were married. My wife worked at a McD's, and she was in the drive-thru, when someone drove through with this cute little puppy that they were going to have to take to the pound. So naturally, my wife brought her home. She was our first kid. She's been with us since 1997, through everything. But her health was failing, and she had an infection that was going to require surgery. Her life-long vet, who recently retired due to health reasons of his own, and the vet he referred us to, both told us there was no good option that could be offered as treatment. It was the hardest decision I've ever had to make. We stayed with her, through the end. It was quiet and peaceful. I cried like a baby. It wasn't the first time this week, or the last. Hell, I'm crying now. I keep expecting to see her come into the place to cook food, or into the living room. Or it's "I'd better go take the dog out." It's just hard, it's so hard. I don't even know why I'm telling this here, I've just got to get it out. I called off work yesterday, and I was already off for today, but I've got to go back tomorrow. I'm not looking forward to it, but at least it will get me out of the house.