Dogmatyx was his name, he was half beagle and half Irish Wolfhound. And the strangest-looking puppy you ever saw, who grew into a very handsome adult. Smart as hell, friendly, protective, and could catch any critter silly or suicidal enough to get into the yard. Including a large turtle; he crunched up the shell to get to the chewy center(them Wolfhound jaws were something).
The last year or so he'd gotten creaky, but still got around pretty well, and son spent time with him when home on leave. Then a couple of days ago the ex notified me that he'd taken a real turn for the worse; I went over after work, and yeah, it was bad. So it was time. Preparations were made, and she found a vet who made house calls. That last being important because he was hurting enough I didn't want to have to move him any more than necessary.
So yesterday morning went over. Daughter had taken a couple of hours so she could be there as well, and we spent some time with him until the vet arrived. It went about as smoothly and peacefully as such a thing can. Then we buried him in the blue comforter he liked to snooze on.