Blog

The sun was shining today. I guess it always shines, but it?s those darned clouds that always seem to upstage it and block it out. Clouds are like the attention starved kids who fight for your personal space. And rain clouds are the most annoying kid ? the one no one wants to pay any mind to because he?s already trying so hard to be noticed that you don?t want to encourage him by acknowledging his presence. They always jump out in front of the sun and make your day seem miserable. Sometimes I?d rather cut off my own right arm on a sunny day than win the lottery on a rainy day. But then, sometimes I?d take the money, keep my arm and endure the rain.
But the sun was shining today and I was happy for it. Maybe the clouds had remembered to take their Ritalin or landed in detention or, better yet, found a small terrorist country to bother. Either way, I was going to go out and enjoy the day.
I laced up my new running shoes, put on my sweatshirt and running pants, grabbed a quick verse to meditate on, and took off for a brisk run in the cool fall air. My fianc?, Carol, would describe it as the kind of air that is so fresh and clean and rejuvenating that you want to take a drink of it. I ran and prayed and recited my verse for the day. I let my thoughts run on ahead of me. I caught up to them about two tenths of a mile from my house on the way back when my mother pulled up beside me in her car.
?Wanna take Casey to the vet with me?? She had taken a half day off of work to bring our 15 year old family dog to the doctor, and wasn?t looking forward to the experience. It was hard for all of us to see Casey?s condition deteriorating so rapidly, and her old age was taking its toll on her eyesight, hearing, mobility, and worst of all, her bladder control. She?d lay around all day except to pick through her food dish or be let out (or carried out) to go potty. I had had a few years away from her while I was in college and living somewhat nomadically around the country, so I didn?t feel so emotionally connected to her anymore. I think I was the first to suggest she be put down.
?It?ll save a lot of money on carpet cleanings and Dad wouldn?t have to carry her out to go pee every night,? I remember saying just last week. I thought the emotional attachment was gone. But it was there, hidden, and today it came back to reintroduce itself.

It seemed as though we were the only family I knew who didn?t yet have a dog when my brothers and I first started climbing on our dad, begging for a puppy all those years ago. I suppose it was a typical scene straight out of the book of clich? family discussions.
?We prrrrrrroooomise we?ll take care of it,? we lied. ?We?ll feed it every day and take it for walks and give it baths and we?ll do all our chores without complaining for the rest of our lives! Please Dad? Please? Pleeeeease??
He stood his ground longer than we thought he would. ?No. We can?t afford a dog. I?ll end up being the only one who ever feeds her or takes her for walks or pays any attention to her.?
After pleading and begging and kissing feet failed, we decided to pull out the heavy artillery. We would break him somehow. With Mom?s help, we brought her home and plopped her in Dad?s lap.
?Fine,? he grumbled, ?we?ll keep her, but only for a week to see if you keep your end of the bargain!? So Casey became the most well groomed, well exercised, well loved, well fed dog in the country, perhaps the world?for about a week.
But for her last 14 years and 51 weeks on earth, Casey was just another member of the family; often fending for herself at dinnertime, but always well looked after by Dad.
These days, though, she walked painfully and didn?t come running out to greet us in the driveway, barking at the air, showing us how well protected the house was while we were gone. Her tail didn?t even wag when you approached. Maybe she couldn?t see anything but blurry figures anymore. It only made sense with the gray haze that had formed just behind the lens of her eye. She certainly couldn?t hear anything. Her right ear used to stand straight up and her left would always stay lopped over whenever something caught her attention?especially when you said the word ?treat.? I think she might have even known how to spell that word. But not anymore. On the way to the vet, I held out one of her favorite snacks and she only sniffed it. It lay there in the car next to her all the way there.
We guided her in to the lobby and sat her on the scale. Fifteen pounds lighter than last year. Dad met us in the waiting room. He had quit after half a days work, too. The assistant took Casey?s temperature while the vet checked her ears and felt around her abdomen for anything out of the ordinary. He listened to her breathing and made a comment about her heart still being good.
?She?s always had a good heart,? my mom said.
After the formality of a check-up, the doctor said he would need blood work to see what the specific problem might be. ?It could be diabetes or cancer or the beginnings of kidney failure. Do you want us to run the blood work? I mean, we don?t have to. She?s fifteen years old and??
I can imagine as a doctor it?s a touchy subject to bring up euthanasia to a pet owner when the owner hasn?t actually come out and said it yet. What if we had come in that day without ever thinking it was a possibility? Mentioning something like that could be devastating to a family. So I can also imagine he was fairly relieved when my dad wondered out loud if it would be better to just have her put to sleep.
?Yeah, maybe that would be best for her,? he sighed. He asked if that was what we wanted and everyone looked at me for the go ahead. After all, I was the one who was so cavalier about doing this in the first place ? you know, the emotionally detached one? Maybe that?s why I felt like they were looking to me to give the okay.
But I was the first to show any sign of emotion. My eyes were a sheet of glass and talking would definitely give me away. So I nodded, grabbed a Kleenex and walked outside to call Carol and cry. I left a message for Carol, regained my composure, then decided I should go back in and be a man about it. I should be there with Casey for this, I thought.
After the doctor administered a sedative to relax her muscles, Casey?s distant gaze grew fainter as she slowly laid her head down and became totally limp. That was the hardest part of it all. Her last year had proved to be a tough one for her, but she fought hard. Now the anesthesia wouldn?t even let her do that. One final shot slowed her heart rate until it disappeared altogether and it was over. It may have been the second time I had seen my dad cry in 25 years. Like me, he tried hard to hide it, but his shaky voice and red eyes gave him away. Surprisingly, my mom held out until outside in the parking lot where she finally broke down and hugged my dad, sobbing.

I can?t imagine someone being moved by this story. You weren?t there. You didn?t know and love Casey like my family did. My own brothers might not be able to relate totally because they didn?t sit in the room with my parents as we watched the life leave her body. Its almost maddening when I think about people reading this story because I know there will be jerks out there like me, laughing and making jokes, all the while totally detached from the real feelings that came with growing up with a pet like Casey. They may be able to relate experientially, because many people have pets die, but they won?t be able to grieve with me as I am grieving now. And now I sit here typing out his pathetic story with tears streaming down my face and a lump in my throat, sobbing like a baby as if I?d just lost my right arm. But at least it was a sunny day.
-11/10/03