We put my dog to sleep today.
It was awful.
I keep trying to convince myself that it was for the best, but then, all I can remember is when the vet brought him back into the room with the catheter in his leg and set him on the table in front of me and he backed up into my arms so quickly…
…because I’m supposed to protect him and he was scared. And he had had a good day. I had spent three days with him and this morning, this morning, he acted like himself for the first time. The front door was open and we were sitting in the sunshine – he was panting and smiling like he used to all the time. His tail was wagging. He wasn’t startled when I pet him and he stayed around me. He was happy.
But it was for the best, right? He also made “messes” all over the house this morning and over the past three days. He also walked around in circles all weekend because he had arthritis. He also had a heart murmur and kidney problems. He also was pretty much deaf and blind.
I’m trying to force myself to be glad…to be happy that his last morning was a good one, and I keep mentally listing all of the problems he had, keep telling myself that we saved him from more pain than he may have already been in, that an almost-18 year-old dog wasn’t going to survive much longer……..but I just keep crying.
And maybe before my sister died this wouldn’t tear me apart like it is…..but it is tearing me apart, it is opening up old wounds and putting salt in the ones that aren’t even healed.
And the weight – the heavy pressure…it’s pressing down, again. It’s pressing down because all I can see…all I can think about…is him backing up into my arms.