Dear Toby,

I remember when we first brought you home as a puppy 10 years ago. I was only 9! That seems like forever ago. You were so shy, but so playful. You were probably the best dog a guy could ask for. It didn't even matter that you packed on all those pounds and slept all the time. Or that you had some funky smell that no amount of shampoo could wash out. It made you unique. And you were the nicest of all possible dogs. Everyone would tell us how friendly and well-behaved you were. You were a good boy. You didn't deserve this.

I'm so sorry. I'm sorry we couldn't figure out what was making you sick. None of the vets had any idea. The vet said those steroids would ease your pain, but the trade off was the possibility of quicker organ failure. I'm sorry if they didn't help. No one realized how bad it would get so fast. It was tough to see you in such a state. All your hair was gone! And you could barely stand up. I never wanted to have to put you down. I was so firmly against it. It's not fair to you that we should be able to just decide when you were done. I know that, and I'm sorry. You just didn't seem like you had anything left. Most of all, I'm sorry that I wasn't there today to say a proper farewell.

Maybe we were doing you a favor. I can only hope so. Otherwise we're all just complete assholes.

Rest well, buddy.