We were the first there in the morning last Friday. I'd asked if just staying outside might be an option. The lovely vet said, sure. So we stayed in the back of the van with the door up, cuddled on her sheepskin with her head on my lap; we never even went inside. The vet gave her a sedative and then left us to sit together and look at the trees and feel a soft breeze and the sunshine. Lots of great smells wafting her way.
We were the only ones there and it was private and very quiet. I fed her chunks of fresh liver we’d stopped for (kind butcher woman heard what I wanted when I could talk straight and just handed me the package, waved me out of there). I talked to B. and rubbed her head while she relaxed. It was so peaceful. She slowly got dozy and the tension (and the pain) started going out of her body. She began breathing heavily. The vet came back in about 20 minutes and when she put in an IV in a back leg for the final shot B. didn’t even seem to notice. She had the gentlest passing I’ve ever witnessed, human or animal.
Afterward I drove to a quiet spot at the park and sat with her some more with the door open to the woods, talking to her about all the hours she ran there in the early mornings---all the way from the little bridge behind the h.s. through the woods to the fire station then back around both ball fields to the tracks and back again to meet me at the shelter. She was so happy—really majestic in her prime, running full tilt with her amazing coat rippling and tail flying. I used to take her even in snow, often her corgi pal too (but not in deep snow, the corgi would disappear). A couple departed groundhogs there didn’t like her much, but B. loved that park.
The SPCA people were also wonderful, especially the man who carried her body to the gurney like she was his only precious child. He kept talking to her (for my sake, but such compassion), "Oops, let's not bump your toe...," telling her how beautiful she was, that she was in a much better place. This guy had the heart of a St. Francis. I was so grateful.
An amazing taste was the last thing B. was much aware of, except how much she was loved.
I'd like the same death, please, should I need it, except substitute chocolate for liver. Is there a problem with that?
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Mimetalker
angus mccflop
consonantsandvowels
Joan H.
Greg Correll
Jeff L. Howe
Salon.com
Comments
A beautiful testament to a great friend - thanks for sharing this Petuunia.
This appears to be your debut here on OS and despite the despicable lack of attention this piece received, please know that this post was exceptionally well written.
You're quite a talent.
Angus, what a gift to say, good writing. Thank you. It's not really my debut here...one day I read some OS fighting and got spooked and took my posts all down. Tith B.'s loss, piped up again. Thank you so much for commenting.
Consonants and Vowels, I don't know how you found my post but I'm so glad you did. Thank you for commenting and feeling how I loved my pooch.
But yes. We could give this to each other when we are in pain, at the end. It's hard to imagine how it is not right.
I wish you ongoing joys with your current animal loves!
Far from offensive, this post dramatically highlights how humanely we treat dying animals compared to how cruel we are to humans in the same situation.
Thank you. What a generous comment.