I've had an Old English for 19 years. Awfully old for his breed but my bestest in the world furbuddy. I saw him being born. Heck, I was the one who "caught" him and gave him to his momma to clean. I trained that dog. He never had a lead on, obeyed totally from hand and voice commands. If my daughter and I were fighting, he would herd us together -- hard to yell at each other when inches away. We'd usually end of laughing. The cats thought he was their personal pillow. If he was on the bed sprawled out, one would sleep on his side, the other between his paws and Bo would just kind a stare at him and then cuddle up to me. On the floor in a ball and at least two of the girls would be sleeping on him somewhere. He'd been going downhill the last two years. He had arthritis, bone spurs, almost totally deaf, blind in one eye, but he wasn't in major pain. In the last six months, I would have to help him more and more. He couldn't jump on the bed or use the stairs I'd made for him anymore, so I'd lift him up. Same with getting in the car. That's okay, old age isn't the end of the world and he was OLD. The last two weeks it was obvious his time was coming. He had to be helped to stand up, breathing was getting heavier, the whole nine yards. I probably waited a day or two too long but I wanted him to go when a friend of mine was working as the vet. I took Squeaks (he only deep-throated barked when he was protecting me -- otherwise he literally squeaked) in Friday morning. My bestest buddy is gone. I miss him soooo much. I'm not a crier but I can't quit tearing up. I miss him more than I've ever missed anyone in my life except my dad. I've read the Rainbow Bridge over and over. Right now, it is zero comfort. I know Squeaks is in a better, happier place. Heck, he was always the happy dog, always smiling, wagging his whole behind -- usually up to his waist. Whoever is watching over him now will be smiling a lot. You can't help but smile around my big lug.