Dog Days
I have a heavy heart today as I know our dog Kato has only 24 hours to live. She's been crippled by a tumor in her back and has no appreciable quality of life remaining. I've found myself apologizing to her for the past week for not taking care of this sooner. We have an appointment at the vet's tomorrow afternoon.
No longer will she crash down the stairs when she attempts to descend them herself. She'll be free of the daily medications which make her more mobile, yet require her to drink and pee with a frequency which doesn't sit well with her desire to just lay about. The memories of the dog she used to be are still fresh in my mind, and I think in hers as well. The playful and rather noisy creature who ran through the yard at Mach II endangering small children, greenery, or anything else in her path is no more. Gone is the announcement of every visitor, deliveryman, or passer-by within the greater metropolitan area. She still manages to eat the kids' table droppings, but can't find the attitude which has kept the evangelists and salespeople staring at the house from roadside and then moving on.
I'm absolutely convinced this is the right decision to make. Yet I'm haunted by a feeling that the decision is somehow not mine. Tomorrow, when the vet inserts the needle I'm sure I'll be fighting back a flood of tears and losing the battle big time. But the tears won't be for Kato, or for me coping with losing her in my life. I've been through this both ways before. Our cat Casper was euthanized after a long battle with cancer, and our other dog DD (who was far and away my baby) died of natural causes in the backyard. Losing DD should have been immensely more emotional for me. I was closer to her than any animal (and most people) I've ever known. Yet I was able to take her passing in relative stride. I still have fond memories of the time we spent together, and thoughts of her still cause a tear to well. But I never went through the emotional anguish I suffered with Casper, and expect to suffer with Kato tomorrow.
The difference seems to be the idea that I'm making a conscious well planned decision to end the life of a friend. It is a responsibility I can't take lightly, even if the friend is a dog. The emotional release I expect tomorrow will be the release of the weight of that responsibility; a torrent of relief, anger, apprehension, and fear. I will mourn her loss, I will miss her dearly, but that's not why I'll cry tomorrow.
I'll get through this in part because I wonder if someday I'll need someone to make this decision for me. Should my quality of life disappear and I'm unable to express my own desires, I hope someone has the courage and the Kleenex to make this decision for me.
Sleep well my friend.
