Thank you all for the kind words and condolences over Bobo's death. It didn't hit me as hard as I would think it should, as he was my baby for 17 years. I've had him since he was 6 weeks old, on my 12th birthday. I knew his time was nigh, and I knew it would be this year. For the past month, I thought about what I want to do with him when he dies. His condition has been getting worse over time. And when I put him in the backyard of my parent's house, I knew that would be the last time I saw him alive. I told my parents if he died, don't call me during the camping trip. I didn't want to be a downer to everyone else. I also told them to get him cremated. So I made sure they were prepared for it. I've been prepping for it for a while. And in some way I was kind of glad it happened there, instead of making me deal with it. Selfish, I know. My mom is taking it the hardest. She told me before she left, jokingly, that she didn't want Bobo to die on her watch. Unfortunately, it just happened that way. Some people said he was "just waiting to come home" and maybe he was.
I spent a lot of time with him before the howl just laying on the floor of the living room with him. He couldn't see me, he couldn't hear me, he barely knew who I was, and he barely knew I was even there. When a dog gets so old that they cannot even wag their tail anymore, you know it's their time. I even contemplated putting him to sleep because of his condition. But I guess it was his time anyway.
The circumstances of his death were thus: He went to sleep and never woke up. Just the way I always hoped he'd go. He'll certainly be missed.