His legs gave out on him on the kitchen floor, so I picked him back up and led him to the three stairs that go down to the front lawn. He slipped and slid down the stairs, his back legs splayed out at unnatural angles. I hurried down to make sure he wasn't hurt, but after a little bit of help, he was able to stand up again, and made his way over to the bushes.

His legs couldn't quite hold him up as he peed. I had to keep moving him every time he slipped, so that he wouldn't end up getting himself dirty by lying down in his own urine. After he was done, I tried to lead him back to the stairs, but he had other ideas. He looked at the street and then back at me, as if to say, "Can we?"

I let him lead. He took three steps, and his back legs splayed out again. I picked him up, and he attempted to walk further, but sat down with a thump. I squatted down next to him and petted his head, whispering soothing things to him. He was panting loudly, but when I got him back on his feet, he wanted to go forward, not back, so I let him lead the way once again.

Stumbling, halting, tripping and falling, Trooper made his way to Chris' front lawn. He looked up at the streetlight, sniffed the rose bushes, and then lay down. I got down next to him again and tried to encourage him to stand back up, but he wanted to stay there.

The night was chilly, but I lay down on the grass next to him. I looked into his eyes and all I could see was confusion. Trooper looked like he didn't quite know where he was, or why his body was betraying him so badly. I scratched his belly for awhile, then realized that it would probably be best to take him inside.

Trooper still wouldn't get up, so I lifted him into my arms. My big guy, who used to weigh over 100 pounds, felt like nothing. He didn't struggle, he didn't fight me as I carried him from Chris' lawn to my own, and up the stairs. I let him into the kitchen, where he stood, wobbily, and drank an entire bowl of water.

I started to walk him back into the living room, but his legs kept slipping, so I picked him up once again and gently laid him on the carpet.

"What happened?" asked Mom.

"He can't really walk that well right now," I said. "He can't even stand up to pee."

Mom looked at him, panting heavily on the floor. "Maybe he'll be better in the morning," she said.

"He has his good moments, Mom, but it's getting much worse. I don't know how much longer it's fair to keep him like this."

"I'm not ready, Pat." Mom said, her voice a hoarse whisper.

"Neither am I."

We both looked at the old boy, lying helplessly on the carpet. He looked at us, and tried to stand up, but he just couldn't do it. I went into the kitchen and poured some water into a Tupperware bowl and set it down by him. He drank most of it, and I took it away just in case it made him need to go to the bathroom during the night. There would be no way he could get up and let either one of us know that he needed to go out.

"I think we might have to call the vet tomorrow," said Mom.

"I know."

"It's not fair to him."

"I know."

"He's a good dog," she said.

"Yeah, he is."

Mom stood up, gently folded her afghan, and stooped down to scratch Trooper on the head. "You're a good old boy, aren't you?" she said.

"Maybe he'll be better in the morning," I said.

"I don't think it matters," she said. "What time do you normally get up?"

"Wake me up whenever you need me."

"Okay."

Mom left the living room, put her cereal bowl in the sink and went upstairs. Trooper hauled himself up, dragging his back legs to a standing position by sheer force of will, and paced around the living room. He stopped at the dining room, where there's a hardwood floor, and looked down for awhile.

I heard footsteps on the stairs, and saw Mom in her bathrobe, carrying the bathmat from the upstairs bathroom. She set it down between the doorway and the area rug in the dining room.

"In case he decides to go anywhere during the night," she said. I nodded. She turned away and went back upstairs.

Trooper looked at the new surface on the floor, sighed, and lifted himself back onto his feet. He stumble-walked his way through the dining room, and scraped his back knuckles across the slippery kitchen floor into the den, where he usually sleeps.

Tomorrow morning, I expect I'll hear a knock at my door. While Trooper is lighter than he used to be, he still weighs over 60 pounds, and Mom can't lift him up by herself. She's been able to coax him to his feet using a towel slid under his belly, but that trick doesn't work as well as it has over the past couple of weeks.

I don't want to go to bed right now. I don't want to turn the lights off on my old puppy and climb the stairs he hasn't been up for months. I don't want to know what the morning brings.

I'm not ready.