My Dog Dies Today
by Eros Nocturne
My dog is going to die today.
When I wake, I’m met with the unbearable realization that the appointment is soon. There’s no getting around it. To keep him alive for longer is to be selfish and cruel.
I can’t do that to him. Not after all he’s done for me.
My lips twitch into a frown, and I roll out of bed, trying and failing to stretch out the back pain. The black bundle at the foot of my mattress lifts its head, foggy eyes swiveling towards where I stand.
“Good boy, Milo. Good boy..!” I coo at him, scratching under his chin.
Those misty, grayish eyes close, and his coarse fur presses into my palm.
I’m used to it being softer. Cleaner. With a tender touch, I run my hands near the bald, fleshy spot on his back. Parts of himself he’s chewed up in his old age.
I’m sorry.
Deep down, I know it’s irresponsible of me to have let it get this far. It would have been wiser to lay him to rest soon after he stopped being able to bend his tiny, stiffened joints.
I couldn’t bring myself to lose him. I wasn’t ready.
Today, the same is still true.
I need him. I know damn well that I need him way more than he needs me.
I set him down so that he can eat while I go through the motions. Teeth, shower, clothes, hair. Phone, purse, wallet, phone… I got my wallet, right? Yes. Keys- My keys. That’s what I’m missing.
My dog will die today.
I gather the miniature senior up into my arms once he’s finished lapping up all the water his little heart desires. He isn’t moving much, and I have to refrain from checking to see if he’s already passed.
He goes so still whenever he rests. I’m not used to it. It’s too different.
I bring him outside, setting him down in the driver’s seat of my car, putting the carrier in the back seat before joining him. He goes still in my lap, and I roll down the windows to give us some fresh air as I drive.
I can’t allow myself to think about all the times I dealt with a hyperactive dog in my back seat.
A problem I wish I could bring back now.
The world outside is insulting in how stereotypical it is. Cold, biting. Frigid. The air nips at any exposed area on my face, whipping my hair around.
I’m aware I look like shit. I managed to do the bare minimum today, but prettying myself up for a funeral seems disrespectful. As though I’ll be celebrating his death, rather than mourning the loss of my one true companion.
The dulled brown of the barren trees provide little comfort and even less reassurance. Muted orange and washed-out, pathetic yellow blow between the wheels of my vehicle and the cold, inky asphalt.
The fresh air does me no favors, though I’m not sure a sunny day would have been what I wanted, either. But it’s not for me.
It’s for him. Milo matters more.
He always has.
Then why have you let him get this bad?
My hands tremble on the wheel.
My dog is dying today.
As we wait at a red light, there’s a yip off to our left. It’s enough to make Milo look up at the same time that I glance towards the shadowy alley that it came from.
A few more yaps. I glance down. His eyes don’t turn away.
The light turns red, and it takes until someone honks before I flip my signal and make the turn, apologizing under my breath to the aggravated couple behind me.
Ignoring the tightness in my chest, I pull over to the side of the road. I swipe my phone and leave Milo in the car. My steps going into the pitch-black alley are small, and I make sure to keep my feet low to the ground.
The sole thing to greet my vision is the vague outline of an overfilled dumpster.
I unlock my phone, tapping the flashlight button and swinging it around until I spot a light brown puppy in a stained, lumpy, navy blue blanket. I can’t tell what breed it is, but the little thing must be bottle-feeding age.
There’s a rustle, and the two lumps reveal themselves to be more pups. The same litter, for sure. Light gray and cream coats.
I bite the inside of my cheek, mulling over my options…
Right. Leave them here to die, or take them with me.
It’s a no-brainer.
Squatting down, I reach out a hand. “Come on, guys… It’s okay…” Not wanting to startle the poor things, I keep my voice low, keeping as still as possible.
The brown dog is the first to toddle over, wrinkled snout clumsy in its sniffing of my hand. Once he shows no signs of moving away, I allow myself the indulgence of petting its squishy little face.
The other two are quick to follow, and I find myself with young dogs wrapped in the dirty blanket I intend to replace the moment I can.
Anyone else would find themselves doing the same thing, I tell myself.
Milo’s fallen asleep by the time I return to the car, and I’m relieved the carrier is spacious enough for all of the babies. I place them inside, taking an effort to pad the bottom and sides with the provided throw-over while they wriggle around. Once they’re all settled in, I get right back to driving.
I can’t find it in me to care about being late.
Not to this appointment.
My dog dies today.
Once I’m parked near that too-familiar off-white building, I roll the windows up — but leave a gap for the pups in the back.
Milo first. Then I’lll make sure they’re cared for.
I take the small bundle of wiry black fluff into the office, laying him in my lap and petting him while we wait. Looking around at all of these other dogs, my hand running through his fur in an effort to soothe, I’m not sure which of us I’m doing this for.
Soon enough, the vet calls us back.
Everything moves forward, though it’s difficult to feel as though I’m all here, in the moment. The piles of stress and heartbreak I’ve been struggling to repress melts away into a numb sort of pain that is anything but comforting.
I pet him, no longer feeling the texture beneath my fingers.
There’s a wag of his tail, a low whine, and then his little tummy no longer moves.
Everything decides to return then, and I’m unable to keep it together.
My dog died today.
But I can’t let the ones in the car follow his lead.
Words leave my mouth, yet I can’t hear them. I know what I’m saying — telling the vet that I have abandoned puppies in my car. None of the words I speak make it to my own ears. The look in her eyes is full of pity, and she allows me to bring them in.
The vaccination process is swift. There’s dates I write down for the next appointments, and then we’re in the car, driving home, that odd emptiness filling my insides once more.
I make a stop at the pet store. Bowls, leashes, toys. Dog beds. Carriers. Bottles. So much more.
When we get home, I allow them to run around while I set up their gear, putting Milo’s old stuff in a cabinet. I can’t bear to throw any of it away, or donate it. Or even reuse it myself. Not yet. Maybe after I visit his grave.
Maybe…
His grave.
I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.
Not now.
Don’t think about that.
My gaze falls on the puppies. The unclean, light colors of their fur clash together while they tumble around on the floor, and I make a mental note to bathe them soon. Before bed. Yeah. I have to stay on top of their care. I can’t allow myself to fall behind. Not again. Not now. There’s others relying on me. I won’t be alone.
I’ll always miss him.
But there’s others to care for. They’re still here. I have no time to wallow in destructive self-pity.
One pup bumps into my leg, and I pick them up, looking into the bright eyes of a wiggling baby.
A new person was born today.
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August 22nd, 2024 at 11:26 am
You have captured the heartbreak of saying goodbye to a beloved pet.
All of us that have been in your shoes can relate to the pain and sadness, yet you offer the hope of new love that is possible with the puppies.