the toughest call

This time, I can't identify my teacher or the migraine I had this weekend as the cause of my silence. This time, it's grief. A friend of mine asked last week when it was time to have a dog put down. Her eleven year old German Shepherd mix had been having greater and greater difficulty navigating the stairs. It was fast becoming apparent that arthritis, that bane of large dogs everywhere, was winning the war. All kinds of things had been tried to ease her pain, and until recently, she fought valiantly, yelping only when her stiffened limbs missed a step, sending her tumbling awkwardly downstairs, or planting her muzzle into the stairs going up. But she would recover bravely, hoping no one had noticed. This past week, however, had seen her whimpering before even attempting the stairs, coaxing her owners back to her level. Just rising from a nap was laboured. And so the hardest call stood before them, silent, unavoidable.

I well up at the thought of making such a decision, before even putting a face to the subject. Life has been good to me, in that I have never been confronted with the prospect. My first cat ran away while we were away on vacation; there was no miracle reunion for us. The cat I received for my seventh birthday lived a good sixteen years, but I was at work when the time came, and it was my father who bore that burden. The rodents and reptiles and birds who left us over the years did so on their own terms, usually silently in the night. Everyone else, save for Lita, is still with us.

So, today was going to be the day. Then she bounded into the SUV, just like in the good old days, and instantly won a reprieve. So they sit, enjoying each other's company, for another evening, acutely aware of the ticking clock and of the toughest call, still sitting, waiting. I salute the courage of those who, when the time comes, for the right reasons, can stand beside their loved ones one last time, and make the call. I hope I have that strength when the day comes for me.

In six, then: Learning to let go - cruel fate.

(377)