It’s really quite bizarre. I just made an appointment to have the dog put to sleep. Next Monday. Eleven o’clock.
Does he know? Can he tell what I have done? He is sniffing my leg right now. Can he smell the phone call with the vet?
I have been thinking about it, preparing for it, talking about it with my spouse and the kids. I have felt very removed from it. Very clinical. Very practical.
And at the same time, it seems like I am faking it. Like I am going through an act. Like I am pretending that I am going to put the dog down because I am portraying a woman borderline personality disorder who is creating drama for attention or for the sake of drama, not because I am really going to kill him.
Yea. It’s kinda surreal.
There are many truths in this. I keep thinking that it really isn’t time. I think to myself that he still wags his tail and that he still smiles at me. That he still enjoys rolling in the snow and putting his nose in the kids’ laps. That he still relishes the food that I know the kids are sneaking to him at the dinner table. When I lie down with him on his bed, he still puts his paw on my shoulder like he is giving me a hug. He still smells the same. I love the way he smells, old dog breath and all.
Other truths. He has lots of cancers on his face. He has fatty tumors all over his body. His shoulders and hip muscles have deteriorated. He shakes sometimes when he is standing too long. He falls down the steps in the morning on his way out the door. We wonder if it is painful for him to eat standing up. He can’t hear very well. He can’t see very well. We can’t take him to the dog park anymore because he won’t come when called – because he can’t hear or see us. I am not sure if he can take another summer of thunderstorms and firecrackers (if he can still hear them). The last time we were at the cabin, I let him out in the middle of the night to pee and he didn’t know where he was. He got confused and lost on the way back to the door. And he loves the cabin and the lake more than us.
Selfish truths. I don’t want to go through another summer of fire crackers and thunderstorms. I would like to have a summer where there are no poops in my yard. I would like to have a summer of grass. It is difficult to find places for him to stay when we leave or go on vacation because he tends to poop in peoples houses when he is stressed. I won’t miss that. He sheds a lot. He is ruining our wood floors with his splaying and falling down.
I will miss how petting his ears can calm me down. I will miss snuggling with him. I will miss it when he rolls over on his back for a good tummy rub. I will miss throwing the ball to him at the cabin. I will miss watching he and the kids together. I will miss his beautiful face. I will miss his gentleness. I will miss his total love and adoration. I will miss how he follows us around he house. I will miss how much my children love him and protect him.
