The day has drawn nearer so much more quickly than I thought.
In the space of four hours this morning he had three quite heavy-duty fits. I knew things weren't going to be good.
Today has been spent sitting with him and gently stroking him, marvelling at how puppy-soft that small patch behind each ear remained while the rest of him has got old.
I lay next to him keeping him calm and warm until CK could get home from work. As always his discomfort and general unhappiness with the universe (congenital and not age-related, the grumpy old bugger) were alleviated when CK walked through the door.
Whatever blood the nice lady vet took from him was obviously the magic stuff as he slowly started to decline rapidly from Thursday morning. It was with much sadness that we made the most godawful decision of my life, his life, our lives.
So having regularly beaten seven bells out of The Grim Reaper since Christmas 2008 my beautiful OMD has finally conceded defeat. That tall skinny bastard better hold up his end of the bargain and turn up with the best frisbee ever.
If you could spare a second to think a happy thought for my gorgeous boy around 0930 BST Saturday (1930EST) I would appreciate it.