Why couldn't it have been in the morning?

Bear's my "old man of a dog", half lab - half chow, and we figure he's probably 15 or so. We adopted him after he was fully grown, and he already had a couple years on him. He'd been abused with his previous owner, and he seemed to appreciate a home where he was loved and where the worst we ever did was holler at him to get out of the trash. He wasn't one of those dogs that jumps on you or licks your hand or fetches a ball, he was just content to sit next to you and have you scratch his ears. He made a good watchdog once upon a time, as Maria can attest, barking his head off and growling if he didn't know you. He never once opened his mouth to so much as nip at anyone, though.

Now, he's very old and very fragile. He can't hear well, and doesn't even seem to see much of what's going around. Still, when he smells that I've come into the room, he wags his tail as he always has, which is how he got the name "Wigglebuns" and "Daddy's Little Boobear". Every movement hurts, and sometimes he trips and falls when he's trying to walk somewhere. We all know it's not fair to let him endure such indignities any longer, and we had a decision to make.

Today at 4PM, I am taking Bear to be put to sleep. That was the only time they had open, so I get to sit all day knowing that it's coming, knowing that I'll have to watch him slip away, far from the aches and pains that plague him. It's awful, the waiting, I just wish I'd been able to take him in the morning...