Reflections on Passing of My Dog Creative Writing

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“That Day…”

Toby—I didn’t see you there as I was getting ready for work that morning. I saw you—but I didn’t see: I even yelled at you, “Let’s go, Toby! You’re going to make me late for work!” as though my tardiness were all your fault. I should have known better: you weren’t eating or drinking; you didn’t want to move. And here I was forcing you up and out the door for a walk. I didn’t realize the pain you were in. You just stood there on the lawn. You stood and looked at me with sad eyes—and even them I didn’t see. I only wanted to get to work, to get on with my day. I was so impatient, though all the signs were there. Something was wrong—but I barely noticed.

I had so much on my mind already: work, the car, the upcoming Memorial Day weekend. You were always there for me when I’d come home, were always a great companion—so much fun to have around. Yet when you needed me, you didn’t hop up for attention or bark or whine. You quietly folded yourself into the middle of the floor of the room, away from everything, under the furniture. I should have noticed your silence, but I was too focused on myself that day. I let you back in and then went out the door without even saying so long.

You were still there when I got off work and walked in the door: lying on the bathroom floor, on the cold tile. “An odd place to lie,” I thought, still not getting it. Yet it was as though your silence had accumulated all throughout the day and hung heavy in the air—like a rebuke to me. I dropped my keys on the counter and felt so uneasy, so suddenly struck by what I hadn’t had time to see earlier—that you were suffering. I went back to the bathroom and crouched down. You, my first love, my best friend, my companion for so many years…. You helped shape my life. I brushed my hand over your coat. Your legs were moving back and forth, like you were chasing squirrels in your sleep. I thought it best not to wake you. “I’ll get him some new food,” I thought to myself—perhaps trying to make up for a feeling of guilt, of negligence creeping up on me. I went out again, picked up food, returned an hour later. Still, there you were, lying on the same bathroom tile floor—only you had shifted, turned as though to see me—where I had been and where I now was again. “Toby!” I called, waving the snacks I’d just bought. “Toby!” I called. You didn’t answer. You weren’t interested. I moved closer, stooped, tried to pick you up: you whimpered.

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That was when I knew. That whimper—it cut through everything: all the fog, the haze, the myriad thoughts of myself and my day—it all vanished in an instant. I suddenly saw everything. Toby, you—my small, little silky terrier—you with whom I’d grown up…I felt it. I was about to do the rest of my growing up without you.

I cradled you and rushed out the door with you in my arms—to the vet. I’d never lost anyone or anything before. Now all I could think about was you—setting things right; getting you well again. You’d always pulled through in the past, always bounced back after some hiccup, some stumble, some ailment. We’d never had to cross this bridge—the bridge—the bridge that separates the quick from the dead. I didn’t even know we were approaching that bridge…. I was sure the vet would have a solution—just like he always did. And yet, somehow, in the fear, in the heavy silence that now filled the car—I knew.

The vet was straightforward with me after seeing you: he said we had two choices, that you were suffering from kidney failure and possibly pancreatitis. The emergency animal hospital for surgery was option one—but there was no guarantee of recovery. Option two was to have you put down. I stood there, stunned. Why hadn’t I noticed sooner?—that was all I could think. I felt like your suffering was my fault—like I was to blame; if only I had paid more attention….

I was there for over 3 hours. They were the longest 3 hours I have ever endured. The vet said the morphine was not working, your pain was getting worse. I was all alone; I called my mom for help, for guidance—but in the end, it was my decision.

I went into the room where you were, and spent a few minutes just with you—remembering our time together. I caressed your back and told you it was all right, that it would all be over soon. Then I said goodbye. Then they put you to sleep.

The thoughts and feelings that consumed me afterwards—that consumed….....

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