One January, 13 years ago, I found a fat, roley poley puppy in a barn. He waddled when he walked. He had floppy ears and horrible breath. But I loved him anyway.
His father’s name was Zeus. Thus, we dubbed our corpulent canine, Apollo, son of Zeus.
I stayed in love with that roley poley puppy all his life. I loved that puppy when turned into a not so rolley poley dog and even more when he became a rolley poley old man. He was always there for everyone in the family. He was a smiling (dogs can smile), happy faced, wet nosed, fuzzy shoulder to cry on. He was my own personal weather vane. He was neurotic and loyal. He was my boy. He would greet me every time I came home and see me to the door every time I left the house; he was always the gentleman.
Over the last year, age became an unwelcome guest in our home. Apollo’s once keen eyesight gave way to cataracts and glaucoma. His perky ears gave way to deafness. His body gave way to ailing joints and a diseased back. My friend was getting older, and I couldn't stop it.
Father time was unrelenting to my pleas for "just a little more" of his gift. I knew, this week, that we were approaching the end. Apollo was slowly losing all of his senses. He didn’t know where he was, didn’t recognize anyone, and wasn’t able to move anymore. He lost control of his bowels and his bladder. His eyes no longer danced with happiness when I would come downstairs in the morning. He wasn't able to move freely. He was no longer able to get up and greet me when I came home. He didn’t have it in him to see my to the door whe I left. I hoped it would pass. It didn’t.
It was time to call the vet. I did. The vet told me that with a dog his age, there was little I could do. Still, I thought we would go to the vet one last time. Maybe. Maybe there was something other than putting him to sleep. No matter what else happened, I just couldn't bear to see him in pain another day.
It was a sunny Saturday. He was excited to leave the house. I hoisted him into the car; but his legs twisted behind him, bound up like a pretzel. This had become a common occurrence lately, so I knew what to do. I untwisted his leg, lifted his hips and lifted him gently into the backseat. I sat in the back with him, stroking his head. He looked up at me, as he always did, trusting and loyal. He laid down on the ride to wherever we were going, sighed an old man's sigh and slobbered on my foot. I didn't mind.
It was the last time he’d ever ride in the car.
Apollo was less than pleased when he realized that our destination was the vet. For 13 years he hated going to the vet. Today, I shared his distaste.
It wasn’t long before we were in the exam room. The vet told us that Apollo’s spine was giving way where it connected to his hips, and it was happening rapidly. His prognosis was not good. The vet went on to say that Apollo was living on “bonus time” as it was. We could either keep him alive, in pain and without his mental faculties, or say goodbye. He said it was a personal decision, but that "if it where him" he would put a dog in Apollo's position down.
We didn't make a snap decision. We had already discussed our plans, depending on what the vet said. Since I believe in quality of life over quantity of life, I knew the days of waiting to make the call were behind us. Apollo wasn't getting better. For the last week he was not in control of his bowels or bladder. He spent his days dazed and confused. He wasn't the dog I knew for so long. I know, I am confident, had I been Apollo, I would have been ready to go. I believed he was ready to say his goodbyes. He had, in his own doggy way, already told me so.
I also know that principals only mean something if you stand by them when they are inconvenient. Keeping him alive and in pain would have been selfish. He deserved better than that.
In those last few minutes, I could see in his eyes he knew who we were, he knew where he was, and lumbered over to the table without complaint. He looked at me, with no hesitation when I ushered him to the table with tears in my eyes. He did as he was told. He knew. He waddled when he walked. He had floppy ears and bad breath. And I loved him anyway. He loved me right back.
We stood next to him. He was stretched out on the table. He looked up at us. He trusted that we were doing the right thing for him, just as he always did. The vet was ready to proceed.
But, I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t second-guess every choice I make.
They shaved his paw. The injection was ready. I was standing there, my heart beating so loudly I could hear it in my ears. The tears were flowing. I could hear some of them patter on the ground. I wasn’t sure anymore. I didn’t think I could go through with it.
As the vet was getting ready to proceed with the injection, I could feel the word, “STOP!” welling up in my throat. I opened my mouth through the tears. Just as I could feel the words ready to pass my lips, it was already over. I looked down, right into his eyes, and he looked at me. He was okay. The words choked in my throat. I couldn't speak. In just a few seconds, Apollo breathed a heavy sigh on to my face, it was his last breath. I felt it. My heart went numb. The only thing I managed to blurt out amidst a tearful moan was, “He’s gone.” And he was. His body went limp. He had passed, quietly and painlessly. My friend was gone. I couldn't contain my sorrow.
We stood there with him, for 15 minutes after the vet left the room. It felt like hours. I petted him. I kissed his muzzle. I rubbed my head on his one last time. I said goodbye to my friend. I missed him already. I still do. There is an empty place in my heart that will always be reserved for that roley poley puppy I met in a barn one January, 13 years ago.
Good night sweet prince. Farewell Apollo, son of Zeus. May flights of angels take you across the rainbow bridge to rest.
The breeder charged me $325 for my AKC registered angel. However, it's like Rudyard Kipling said, "The price of a good dog is a broken heart at the end." My heart paid a price my wallet could never hope to fill.
The breeder charged me $325 for my AKC registered angel. However, it's like Rudyard Kipling said, "The price of a good dog is a broken heart at the end." My heart paid a price my wallet could never hope to fill.
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