Today I should get the asshole of the year award, maybe even asshole of the century award. Al had Porter put down this morning. I can tell you that my heart is truly broken and I feel like such a jerk. I know in my heart it was the right thing, but I just keep thinking that we took a life and that feeling is the worst feeling ever. He trusted us as his caretakers, he loved us. I can't help but think that if I never would have moved in with Al and brought my dogs, Porter would still be alive. Earlier this week after our huge fight Al said he called the vet and was going to take Porter in Saturday. I broke down and we had a very long talk on any other possible options. Since he was 13 years old (which I thought he was 10) and he was becoming more agitated easily, also startled easily. Al was afraid since we were keeping all the dogs separated and Cierra was feeding them in the afternoons, there could be something set him off and she would be caught in the middle. I told him to think about it and I would support whatever decision was made. I know this broke his heart and I know this had to be one of the toughest decisions he has ever made. So today I sit here knowing I am the asshole wife that put all of this in motion.
Because of me, a dog lost his life. That is not a very good feeling to have.