A Short Post About a Long Dog

R.I.P., Oscar Mayer.
We lost our older boy on October 22, 2015 to bladder cancer; to all outward appearances, the little guy was otherwise in great shape.  His numbers were excellent.
Of course, he was quite blind and deaf, but still managed to come when whistled for and he could still navigate his way around the house, because we never moved anything.
On that morning, I took him and his brother, Q-dog, outside for the usual taking care of business.
Oscar walked around, as usual, and finally squatted to urinate.  Then he arched his back in great effort to pass urine.  Not a drop.
I called the vet from the yard, and they said to bring him right in; I did.
The DVM inserted a catheter which drained quite a bit of urine, increasing Oscar's comfort.  DVM wanted to do a scan, and I told him 'fine'.
He suggested that I go home, and he would call later, as he had a surgery scheduled for right then.
The rest is kind of a blur, but I remember picking up Roo and driving to the vet's office when she got off work.
DVM had the printouts of the scan, and they showed a pediculated tumor taking up almost all of poor Oscar's bladder.  It would fall over the outlet, and no urine could pass.
We cried and decided that the best thing to do was to let him go.  He looked so healthy and alert, given his age, and he was looking around.
We waited until Oscar was gone, and then sadly drove home.
Tammy handled it much better than I did.  She said, "He thought we were coming to take him home."
That remark has haunted me since.  I feel even worse when viewing things from that perspective.
Also, Oscar, in his Mom's arms, started to lick her face; he NEVER licked anybody!  Was he begging to go home, or was he after the tears pouring from her eyes?  I'll never know and never forget, either.
Did he just want a drink?  Did I miss that?  Should I have given him some water?
The experience is still heavy on my mind, and today is the first day I can write about it.  I know it's a poor job, but it's all I can do.
 We received his ashes a few days  later; in a beautiful wooden box bearing his name inscribed on a brass plate on the front.  It sits on the shelf in our bedroom where I can, and do, pat it several times each day in his memory.
He lived with us for over eighteen and one-half years and I miss him so much.