Friday, September 27, 2019

At 4:37 P.M.


Five funerals and a wedding; that about sums up 2019. If it weren’t for the single greatest day of my life, I would say this year has been tragic at the least. Today we lost another friend.

When heard a knock at my door about fifteen years ago, I had no idea who could be there as I had few friends in the area I had just moved to. I descended the steps and opened the door to a coworker holding a little puppy. He was adorable. He had a pink little nose, bright-white fur that was sparsely blotched with grey and black, especially on his head which was highlighted by a white stripe that split his face in two. He couldn’t have weighed five pounds and he was full of energy.

Now, I had no intention of being a dog owner at that point, but my coworker insisted that I at least try, so I did. And I decided to name him Willie. I bought food, dishes, toys, treats, leashes, made vet appointments, and even had his testicles removed by “laser” beam when the time came. He was a little fucker of a dog that shit everywhere, chewed my furniture, ate part of a wall, and whined incessantly. But nevertheless, I grew fond of that little guy. He was my boy.

Through the years Willie saw me evolve from sober, to drunk, to meth-head, to drunk, to sober again. He has been by my side through everything but my stint in prison, and he survived a car accident with me that even I shouldn’t have. He was a real trooper.

Three days ago I noticed some redness in one of his eyes, and I thought I should keep my eyes on it. I also noticed that he was having more trouble walking lately, and that he seemed to be lethargic more often than usual. Two days ago, I had to pick him up from his bed, and help him outside to go potty. His eye was swollen, and he didn’t look good generally. Yesterday, he wouldn’t move at all without assistance. I had to carry him outside, and when he was done peeing, he simply fell over. He wouldn’t eat, and his head was wobbly. His eye was the least of my concerns at this point, but it still looked pretty bad. I decided to take him to see the vet.

After a thorough exam, the veterinarian told me that the eye was the least concerning. What was terminal were the two large tumors growing on his upper hind legs that had cut off blood supply, and likely caused irreversible nerve damage. She said that if he lived a month, it would be a blessing, and he would be in pain, and completely out of it.

Today I made the toughest decision I’ve ever had to make. I called and made an appointment to end his suffering. I left work early to spend some time with him, and Amanda went in late so we could both bring him in together. I’ve never had to do anything so incredibly sad. I sat on the floor next to him on a little doggie blanket for twenty minutes before the vet walked into the room, shook our hands, and went to it. I lost it. Over and over I lost it. I cried and cried, and then the vet said he couldn’t find a vein so he went to get a general anesthetic, which he administered.

Slowly, he lost his movements. I realized then that I had witnessed his last meal, his last step, and he had felt his last scratch behind the ears. He had seen his last sight, heard his last sound. I held my hand on his body, waiting for the vet to come back to give him the final shot. I tried to breathe with him. I told him I loved him so many times. I cried. I said I was sorry. I kissed him on his head.

The vet came back in and found his vein and slowly injected the pink death. He took a stethoscope out of a drawer, and listened for a heartbeat. There was none. He was gone forever. It was 4:37pm.

We stayed next to him for several minutes and I said I loved him and I would miss him forever. We wrapped him up in his little doggie blanket—only his cute little face poked out, and we left him for the last time.

I’ve never been hit so hard. I just can’t stop. I want to pet him again. I want him to go get the ball. I want to hear his whine and smell his stinky breath. But it’s over now. He’s gone but certainly not forgotten.

Many of you, who are my friends, have known Willie for years. He was loved by so many, and I know he is better off now. He was my buddy. He was my friend. For over fifteen years, he was a good boy. I will never forget him and the love he showed us all.

Willie in his late teens.
Willie at the wedding.

 
Willie soaking up the summer sun on our honeymoon.


His last picture, and the last time he stood up. I had to prop him up. He isn't happy.



I know I made the right decision, but it still hurt. 

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