A Solemn Tale

Let's talk about youth-in-asia.

No, not that kind.

The other kind. The kind that you have to think about long and hard before you make a decision and even after you decide you keep on thinking.

Euthanasia.

Yep, that's the one.

Two nights ago, Delaney and I were walking the dogs when Bruiser suddenly collapsed. His hind legs were awkwardly folded underneath him.

The maternal instincts in us both kicked in as we crooned and coddled. He just looked at us like, "Yeah, so I'm stuck in the middle of the road. So what?"

After several minutes of resting, he stood up and began to hop forward on three legs. We were far enough away from home that I knew that wasn't going to work, so I left Delaney holding his leash while Duncan and I dashed home so I could return with the car.

Getting him up into the car wasn't the easiest physical task of my day. (We're talking at least 80 pounds of dog here.)

Driving home I knew this was the end of Bruiser's walking days. His hind legs have bothered him for a long time now. (We could tell by the creaky, slow way he had of getting up from a laying down position. Yet he still got excited every time we got the leashes down from the nail where they hang in the garage.) But clearly, with his legs buckling during a leisurely stroll, things were different.

When we got home, we helped him out of the backseat and were deeply saddened to see him unable to bear weight on his left hind leg. He plunked down in the garage. I moved the water bowl within his reach and petted his big orange head.

At nearly 13 years of age, we knew his best years were far behind him and it would break our hearts to leave him behind every time we walked Duncan, so...

...yesterday we drove him to the vet for the last time. He hobbled from the car to the office door.

Without warning, he started dropping doggy bombs in front of the building while I was signing him in. (His bowels haven't had the best control in the past year or so. Good thing he was an outdoor dog.)

After awhile, they called us back to a private room and asked Jeff to put him up on the waist-high examination table. He looked so big on that thing. The four of us stood around him, talking to and petting him.

He was happy as ever, drooling all over the place and cocking his head at the sounds of other dogs going past the closed door in the hallway.

Jeff started to question if we were doing the right thing because Bruiser was still so alert and inquisitive. I reminded him that Bruiser's walking days were over, not just around the neighborhood but even to the food bowl, though I must confess that it was unsettling to know that this sweet lively creature was soon to be stilled forever.

Soon, the nurse (nurse?) came in and gave Bruiser a sedative. It took a few minutes to take effect, but once it did, we couldn't help but chuckle at the change in him. He was trippin' hard. I could almost hear him say, "Whoa, man. I'm tasting colors, man, and blue is faaaaaar out."

His head sank down to his front paws and he started slowly looking back and forth as if he was watching a very sluggish tennis match. Also, he was licking his lips, but he couldn't quite finish the job, so his tongue would hang slackly.

Soon though, they moved him completely on his side. He was so big that his head was partly over the edge. He had pretty much lost control of his mouth so his long old tongue was hanging half way to the floor, dripping a pool of drool onto the linoleum. That was hard to watch because it was so undignified that we felt genuinely badly for him. (Not that he ever had much dignity considering we caught him gobbling up turds on more than one occasion.)

The vet came in, shaved a bit of Bruiser's leg and stuck him with a needle, slowly injecting a pink liquid into him while we continued to pet him and talk to him.

He suddenly shuddered and then was still. The vet put her stethoscope to his chest and solemnly announced that he was gone. The two ladies left the room, telling us to take as much time as we wanted to say goodbye.

We stayed for a few more minutes, knowing that we'd never see him again. Tobias tried to close Bruiser's eyelids, though it didn't work. Delaney sniffled and talked about what a nice dog he had been.

And then we left.



Our Bruiser--
We will miss your floppy ear,
The white tip of your curly tail,
Your unusually orange coat,
The soulfulness of your beautiful brown eyes
And your deep resonating bark.
You were about as sharp as a marble
And your breath smelled like your insides were rotting,
But you were indeed a good boy
And we were happy to have you in our family for so many years.