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Except that it wasn't really a beautiful day. The day was gorgeous. But the circumstances were terrible. And that's all I could think of when bono crooned about the beautiful day in the song of the same name on the radio as we took the dog to the vet.

The dog is dying. I hate the dog. I hate it for dying. I hate it for living. I wish the dog would have died peacefully. I watched the dog's eyes fill up with white goop. It reminded me of the line in I Am The Walrus about "lemon yellow custard dripping from a dead dogs eye." I wanted to scream and shake The Warden for not being merciful to this creature.

But the dog is not going to die peacefully. No. We could only hope that the dog would have been put to sleep on Friday. But it was not to be. New insulin they said, would do the trick.

It's three days later. The dog can't walk. The Warden has rigged up an old walker with a mesh cloth and pillow in between and we have the dog walking outside on this. This would be comical if it wasn't so damn sad.

The dog will languish on with complications of Cushing's Disease as a result of diabetes. This mangy creature who has the breath of death and patchy skin and poor disposition will lie on his side until god knows how long until he breathes his last breath. And will piss and shit and diarrhea and blood mixture on the floor when we can't get him to go outside.

I will have to watch the dog die slowly and the 51 year old man cry like a small boy for several more weeks.