It's a Dog's Death

It must be strange to be a dog in a dog's life. Everything's routine and you just kind of go along with things, hoping that the next car ride will end in fun and/or food or that food will be arriving soon or that the people will be back soon.

Like Stockholm Syndrome: you're effectively a prisoner but capitulate to it and identify with your captor to the point of utterly trusting love.

Last night Tiny didn't want to go to bed. She sniffed it and didn't like what she sensed.

This morning she couldn't get out of bed. She just didn't seem to want to move.

So after having discussed we made the appointment with the vet. With her time ticking away, I could only look at her and reflect on a dog's place in things and the trust it places in its keepers.

Eighty minutes left.

And when Nicole waves chicken under her nose as she lies there and she suddenly perks up, gets up, and eats her breakfast of course doubt resurfaces as to whether it really is time.

And when Eloise gives her her last cuddle and says goodbye we wipe away a tear and then walk away to school.

Thirty minutes left.

She's lying on the sofa, not really sleeping, but breathing heavily and her heart beating hard inside her, our hearts heavy. Her head held just so so the super-enlarged glands don't constrict her wind pipe.

We take her out to the car and Matilda is looking through the gate as we lift her into the boot.

Ten minutes.

And as she looks around the vet's place, not really taking things in, and follows the proffered treat into the anteroom and the vet agrees that yes it was a good decision and she really wasn't in great shape I wonder at the power of life and death.

Five minutes.

Lifting her up onto the table she yields and she sits when asked and lays down and her ears are perky like wingnuts like they were when she was young as her leg is swabbed.

One minute.

And stroking her gently, as the needle goes in and she is gently laid on her side, we feel her breathing subside and she just looks straight ahead and I look her in the eye and we cry.

And she looks just the same, as though she was resting, until the vet picks her up and she flops lifelessly and he takes her into the back room and she was gone.