This has been, for us, a Christmas Day to remember. Not a memorable day, as in future days thinking back with any wish to recall the day and its events, but a day of personal anguish, which time will never heal.

The first telephone call this morning from the veterinarian working Christmas Day at the Alta Vista Veterinarian Hospital was to advise us that Riley had passed the night after his Wednesday surgery fairly well. They were concerned with his blood pressure, much too low. He was in intensive care with 'round-the-clock vigilance and care, still being rehydrated, and heavily sedated, with antibiotics the order of the day.

While late yesterday when we spoke, there was some optimism that we could have him returned to us by Friday, Boxing Day; the following day at the very latest a later call informed us perhaps he might have to remain in intensive care a few days longer, given his vital signs.

Several nodules had been discovered on his liver during the surgery to remove  his gall bladder; the surgery had gone well, he hadn't reacted adversely to the anaesthesia, the organ was removed intact, and he was resting under heavy medication. The nodules might turn out to be benign, or cancerous.

The second telephone call of the day today, several hours following the first was to inform us that pneumonia had set in, likely the result of his having thrown up and some of it having gotten into his lungs. A condition, the doctor said, that likely came with him on his entry to the hospital on Tuesday. And while his condition was yet uncertain, odds had changed from an 80% survival rate we had originally been assured, to a 50-50 chance  of recovery.

There were some concerns; his blood pressure had to be stabilized, pain killers had to be administered. And, if his heart stopped, would we want extraordinary measures to be taken; aggressive CPR?

We left the house to drive to the  hospital. Christmas Day this 2014 in Ottawa was overcast, lightly raining, unusually mild at 5-degrees C.

Once there we were ushered into a "comfort room" equipped with sofas, where the veterinarian on duty went over the details with us. And reassured us that Riley had already experienced the worst trauma, through the surgery and they were doing everything they could to help him survive the surgery. We'd previously discussed his age; 14-1/2, and the concerns over his liver, and then attention had turned to his gall bladder which required immediate emergency surgery.

When we were taken to see him, after a lengthy interval of discussing his condition, the doctor informed us his blood pressure which had rallied slightly was now once again plunging and his breathing appeared seriously compromised; they would have to take aggressive measures at this juncture; his organs were shutting down.

We understood that this was utterly futile. We should have been kind to our beloved Riley and had him euthanized on Tuesday; his condition was dire at that juncture, and the already-aggressive measures taken urged by the veterinarians had only added to his suffering, and the agony of fear and hope we were suffering.

It was at this point where we finally garnered the strength to understand our selfishness in prolonging his agony, in wanting to do anything it might take to help him live longer, not for himself, but for us. And that is when euthanization became a priority, as we caressed our unawaare loved companion, spoke quietly to him despite the breathing apparatus and the IVs, kissed him and bade farewell.