Took Plugh in. He quit moving too much on Wednesday and wouldn't really eat anything I didn't feed him on a spoon. He took possession of chocolates if I handed him one -- priorities, man -- but he just sort of held onto them instead of nomming.

Plugh was a good rat. He received many pets, and ate many foods. He was also one badass motherfucker. He refused to quit until he literally couldn't walk anymore. Today, like two hours before his appointment, was the first time he let me help him climb something without resentfully shaking me off. His back end had gone cool and his feet weren't listening to him anymore -- something was pressing on his spine, I suspect. He was finally tired of things not working right.

Dinner last night was Nutella and ramen. Whatever he'd eat. Today he got strained peas and vanilla Ensure (BREKFISS OF CHAMPEENS) delivered directly to him in his squishy paper-towel-filled hammock along with his morning Tylenol and Benadryl. I tucked his back feet in for him, since he couldn't do it himself.

They all get a dose of my sedatives before I try to transport them. This vet uses pentobarbital for small animals. They get cuddled and fed and cuddled some more, and then sleepier and sleepier until they sleep for good. Humans who have survived barbiturate overdoses say that everything just seems so comfortable as they kick in, and dozing off just seems like such a satisfying idea. I don't like losing them, but if it's their time, it's their time. Out of the available options, we all probably handle The Ultimate Nap the best.

Goodbye, Plugh. Chew on your brothers for me.

Addendum: Plugh was badass to the end. He fell asleep pretty fast, but in the end the vet gave my half-kilo, ailing rat enough pentobarb to put down a 20 lb. dog before he let go. They were impressed, if still sad.

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