And then there was one.

Minutes before we were set to leave yesterday, Meathead got sick. He was hunched over and obviously in pain, and he vomited in the yard. We took him to the vet, but a few hours later he was dead. He had severe pancreatitis (which is what Bernie died of four months ago) and a fever of 106. That's when brain damage sets in. They'd given him morphine shortly before my sister and I arrived, so he was comfortable. He recognized us when we sat in the kennel with him, but pretty soon after that, he slipped away. He was covered in ice packs to try and bring the fever down, but it was pretty obvious there was nothing that could be done for him except euthanasia.

Unfortunately, my sister's boyfriend was at work and not answering his 911 pages. By the time he finally got there, Meathead was gone. It was after closing and the vet had had to leave for a half hour, so there was nothing anyone could do when he started having seizures. My sister held him as he faded away, he drew one last agonal breath and was gone. I think my sister is going to be ok, but it'll be tough for a while. He had a good, long life with us and she says she has absolutely no regrets.

As for Curly Joe, my sister's friends have him for now and will either drive him out here themselves in August, or we'll attempt another road trip in a few weeks. For now, he is having fun playing with their dogs and learning how to pee and poop outside like a big boy.