Forgive me

It's an hour till midnight. I just got home. I showered and changed and put the blood soaked clothes of mine in a bag. MTG is asleep next to me.

I just put down the dog that was too young to die but too sick to live. Dad called while I was at work, the dog had been vomiting anything it ate since yesterday, its defecating anywhere it lays. The vet said there was nothing you can do, it just happens. Make it as comfortable as possible. You can put her down too. But at the visit she still seemed too healthy to put her down, even the vet told us this.

I got to my parents house after work. They don't live in the city. It's almost an hour drive with traffic. Dad's outside sweeping the drive after the downpour we had today. I park and go inside, dad following closely behind. We pass the kitchen and the fridge is full of pictures. Of of which is our first dog TJ, or as the AKC registered him, Sir Thomas Jinxs, a pure breed Sheltie, around his picture says "World's Greatest Dog." I open the door to the gargage, where the dog mostly stays at night. It's her place to stay, it's her's. The smell of her feces is overbearing. She's crapped all over the garage. Nothing is staying in.

She wags her tail as I approach. Slowly she gets up. I try to carry her outside to the back porch, but she wiggles free and insists on limping there herself. We go outside and there is a glimmer of life in her eyes. Her tail wags slowly, not fast, not with much power. She looks happy. She tries to take a step forward out to the grass, but her hind legs give out and they fall beneth her. I try to console her and hold her close to me as I sit next to her on the floor. Slowly licking my ear as she raises herself and sits next to me.

Dad's gone back inside for something. She gets up fully and now slowly walks out to the grass. She throws up half-way out. This time its just blood. She developed some sort of bone cancer that there aren't even medicines for. I walk up and slowly pet her head. Her face warm and still young looking. I hear the back door open and dad walk out again.

He walks out behind me.

Dad: You have to do it.

Me: Maybe we can take her to the docotor in the morning.

Dad: I don't want her suffering all night.

I curse the fact that the nearest vet is 40 miles from where they live. And there are no emergency animal hospitals. It wouldn't matter her vet would be closed anyways. Dad hands me his pistol. The 9mm still warm from where he was holding it.

I hesitate as she looks at me. Her eyes seem to tell that she knows what's coming. This is the second dog that I will loose to sickness. I can't help feel that despite there not being anything we can do, that I've failed her. I imagine Sir Thomas Jinxs watching me point the pistol at her head. I manage to look her in the eye, I stroke her face, I kiss her on top of her head.

Me: If you see Sir Thomas Jinxs, salute him for me. I love you, please forgive me.

Oddly she seems to understand. She looks like she smiles and turns around on her own accord and sits staring out over the field. I again hesitate, then with one sudden "POP!" she falls to the ground. I couldn't have her dying a slow agonizing death all night.

I dig a hole out in the field and carry her out there and bury her. I can't hold back the tears as I do it. Dad asks if we should keep the collar and tags. I tell him to leave them. They're hers, she'll have them forever. We go back to the house and wash our hands with the water hose. I should have brought a change of clothes but didn't think about it. Her blood on my shirt and jeans from where I carried her.

Dad: No more dogs.

Me: No more

We head back inside. I look out to the field one last time and can't help but mouth "Please forgive me" to her. I hope she does.

Waiting and hoping

We've always had pets. Mostly mongrels and strays that adopted us. I currently have a cat and a dog that refuse to live with me. So be it. The cat refuses to have anything to do with me after I moved. I can deal with her. My dog can't come over as there is no place for her to go as she's an outside dog and all I have is a concrete courtyard the length of the condo.

I still pay for their food and bills. They're more my parents pets now them mine. My current dog is more my dad's then anything else. After our last dog died, (a shetland sheepdog) I knew I had to get another for my dad. My dad being retired not from old age but forced by polio spends most of his days alone while mom is at work. The animals keep him company. He complains to them and pampers them. They give him something to do. Thus is why I bought my current dog, a black lab golden retriever mix. She was a bundle of energy and basically chewed up the entire back yard. And as much as dad complained, he loved having her.

I fell bad as I was not a kid anymore when I got her so I didn't play with her as much as I probabaly should have. Though she did sleep with me at first, until she liked the way my fingers tasted and then I promptly kicker her out. But she is loved none the less. For a lab mix she's really skinny. In fact boney. I didn't think this was a problem until today.

Lately she's been getting up seeming a little stiff. Her hind legs off center, but seems to bounce back after a few good stretches. But not today. Today dad calls me.

Dad: You better come look at your dog.

Me: Be there after work.

When I get there she's smiling her dog smile happy to see me. She's moving slow. Her back legs wobbly and out of place. I think she's got that hip problem most dogs of her kind get. I feel sorry for her as she's barely 6 years old. I try messaging her back muscles to see if it helps, but nothing. She's still getting about though.

I tell my dad I'll take her to the vet tomorrow.

Dad: If they have to do surgery, don't do it. Pills okay, but no surgery. If it comes to it put her down. She'll only suffer any other way.

My dad is never really one for sympathy. This is as sympathetic as he gets.

Me: We'll see.

I go ahead and give the dog a bath while I'm there. Dad playing with her as she tries to bite the water from the sprinkler. Our last dog died of cancer, but after all he was 16 years old and grew up with me and my brother, he had a good long life. This dog on the other hand as energetic as she is didn't have much in the way of kids to play with. She grew up with...well grown ups. To be fair she's the kind of dog that didn't want to learn and I didn't want to teach her. She know how to sit though, that's about it. Not to say some friends of the family don't come over often and the kids always play with her. But it's not the same.

I didn't cry when our old dog died. Why I dunno. I think I was more happy that he did since he looked miserable for the last year or so. But as I dried this dog off with a towel, she looks into my eyes. She looks happy but confused as to what's going on. She's far too young to be having the pains and problems of an old dog. I start to cry and she licks me. I brush her off and help her inside where she spends the nights in the garage. Her routine is down. Straight through the house to the garage, unless there's cat food out. Then its eat it before getting yelled at then to the garage. But today I carry her and place her on her bed. She doesn't move but has her head raise and tail wagging furiously. I stracth her nose and ask her to just wait till tomorrow and hope for the best. My idignant cat watching from a perch above the cabinets in the gargage.