Yesterday, this trip wasn’t on the calendar.
Such things, happily, almost never are.
Tonight, I’m sitting on the cool tile floor
of a still, small exam room at the vet’s,
petting you as she inserts the first needle,
the one with the heavy dose of sedative
that immobilizes you, leaves you snoring.
Sure that you’re deep in painless slumber,
she slides the second cold steel monorail
gently into your shaved right rear leg,
the shot you will ride to the afterlife.
Or oblivion. I don’t know and you won’t say.
I turn my gaze away as the syringe empties,
then watch my hand stroking your head.
Tomorrow, as I drive to work, windows down,
a tuft of your fur will blow past my face.
A tough one to read, and I’m sure to experience. That tuft of hair at the end broke me.
We’ve shared the past 30 years with Berners and Pyrs (and cats, cats, cats). There’ll be fur in unexpected places long after they, and we, are gone.
You really captured this experience. It’s never on the calendar.
Thank you, Lisa!
What they said.
You manage not to be maudlin or super depressing but you certainly get the emotion across. Well done!
Thanks! “Write about what you know” isn’t necessarily easy.
I’m choking up remembering being there a couple of times myself.
But not too many to still remember them all. ✌️❤️
I feel your pain….it so difficult to experience.
It’s always painful. Part of the bargain when you love, though, animal or human.