Yesterday I made the hardest decision of my life, to take Pork to the vet to put him at ease. He turned 13 years old last month. He had been gradually struggling to walk for about 4 years due to nerve damage in his back. The last month was the worst as his back right leg finally weakened. He had gone blind in the left eye, mostly deaf in the last few months. Over the holiday weekend, he would stand in the middle of the living room and bark...at nothing. If I sat on the floor next to him, he would lick my leg for over an hour. No longer would he sleep on the sofa and wouldn't stay in my bed for more than a few hours at night. Something was wrong when he refused his ice creams and yogurt snacks. My gregarious little man. Never met a person he didn't like. Never met a Yorkie that he did like. Loved going around the neighborhood in his stroller, scanning for people or squirrels. Riding in the car, ecstatic if we got McDonald French fries (He wouldn't eat Burger King fries.) I am humbly grateful to the staff at the vet's office for their kindness and sympathy. Porkchop was known to all as "The Bulldog in the Buggy". As he laid on the table, it was as if he looked at me and said "It's okay, Mom. It's time to let me go." I woke up from a short nap today and my eyes went right to his bed, that is no longer there. The pee pad no longer at the patio door. I don't know what to do with myself right now. Yet I know he's at peace. RIP Porkchop.