#dtjb

i took the day off yesterday to spend with him. he always recognized me immediately, although it took him a bit to get out of his bed when i walked in. he still did his excited jig + bark. i sat directly on the floor like i do every time i visit, and like always, he crawled right into my lap. he even later brought me his favorite purple ball and played for a bit, but then he had to go lie down and ended up taking a two-hour nap.

this morning at 10am, i brought him to the vet in his favorite fuzzy blanket with his favorite treats, and i held him and told him how much i loved him and how good a dog he’d been and how lucky i was to have him in my life for half my life. i told him i’d be with him until the end. i held him while the vet administered the sedative and euthanasia drugs. he went limp in my arms, and that was it. no heartbeat, no brain activity. it’s jarring how fast it goes- not that you want it to drag on or to prolong it in any way, but it felt kind of... unceremonious. i laid him down, held his head and kissed him one more time, and said goodbye. i eked out something well-meaning but probably incoherent to the vet, shook his hand, collected jack’s things, and left. i had to sit in the parking lot for awhile before i could safely drive back to my parents’ house, which i kind of only half-expected. thick involuntary howling sobs into my gloves, the kind that feel like someone cracked your rib cage wide open. in 7-10 days, i’ll go back to retrieve his ashes, in a cherry box with an engraved nameplate.

i didn’t want to do it at the vet because he’s nervous there, but my parents ultimately decided that they didn’t want to go with the at-home euthanasia clinic i’d made preliminary calls to. i can’t blame them for that. i feel guilty about it for jack’s sake, but it was... awful. my mother wouldn’t have been able to handle it and i’m glad neither she nor my dad had to see it.

There’s a large bush at the end of the alley that Jack will, without fail, momentarily disappear underneath so he can pee in it every time I take him out. This time, he emerged with what I assumed was bush detritus stuck to the top of his ear, and I tried flicking it off only to find that it was actually still-warm bird shit that I then somehow managed to smear all over three other fingers. #cool #thank

Mr. and Mrs. Northface slogged their enormous Suburban into the garage as we were headed back, and by the time we got inside, a small puppy was running in wild circles eluding the drooling grasp of Buzzcut Monosyllable while Lulu Lemon barked incomprehensible orders at him from the still-running car.

These people went and got another fucking dog.

I’m leaning into the fantasy that this puppy will a.) serve as a companion for the existing dog that gets left by itself for days at a time, and b.) won’t keep me and Jack up crying until 4am tonight, because if I don’t, I will claw at my neck and I won’t stop until I’m able to firmly grasp one of my carotid arteries before yanking it violently out of my body.