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The Author's constant companion, and gold prospecting Mate, 'Rusty Nails', was a small mixed breed Terrier style dog.
Rusty was in his sixteenth year when a previously diagnosed malignant tumor began to cause him discomfort, and Pete knew that the time for farewells was near.
Rusty's birth mother was a purebred Australian Silky, and the father, a Shi-Tzu/Maltese cross. He was only nine inches (23cm) to the shoulder, and his hair would grow all the way to the ground, and beyond if let go. He mostly wore his long head hair in a pony tail, with a couple of black and white feathers from the tail of a mean old Big Black Swan stuck in the top. (The TRUE story of how he earned those feathers is in the Kindle Book, "Rusty Nails in the Goldfields")
Rusty Nails, just called Rusty for short, was a charismatic and very attractive little dog who attracted attention from all. He had a keen perception of a stranger's liking or otherwise for dogs. And he reacted accordingly.
When he was about ten years old he was diagnosed with an aggressive tumor in his rear end, and a very expensive medication was prescribed. There was always trouble getting the drops down his throat, but injecting them into a raw chicken neck or wing did the job, without Pete getting his fingers chewed up.
Life was beautiful; in the bush prospecting for gold, retiring to a beaut retirement village with plenty of cats to chase, walks every morning and evening, even when Pete had both knees totally replaced.
But then, Aileen, Pete's wife of 59 years, and Rusty's most favorite of all people, passed away, so Rusty and Pete moved to a retirement complex in Dalby, Queensland.
In his sixteenth year, the tumor reared its ugly head, and the time had come to make vital decisions.
This is Rusty's and Pete's story of how, and when, the final decision was made.
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