One of the down sides of going to a holistic animal clinic to have your dog euthanized is the strong possibility that the portly, genial dog acupuncturist will talk you (or your wife, in this case) out of it.
"Blossom looks better than she did yesterday."
Yes but she still has severe lung cancer and a terminal heart condition and can't walk and is shitting all over herself (not to mention our rugs).
"She's not ready, and you know what? Neither are you." He says to my wife, who - admittedly - is a basket case of tears.
Deb and I had talked for two hours last night about whether or not to include our six year old daughter Casey on this or do it without her. We decided to bring her in on it all the way, which - in retrospect - wasn't the best call. On the way home, Casey is furious.
"I was ready! I was emotionally prepared! Now what? We have to do this again?"
"But Casey, this means we get to have Blossom with us for two or three more days."
" I don't want her for two more days. She can't even stand up! You made a liar out of me. I told everyone it would be today. We should turn around right now and go back and do it!"
"We can't do that Casey."
"Why not?"
I didn't say this, but I realized I'd lost my will to kill my dog, at least for the day. Killing your dog isn't easy, and I had a soldier's resolve going in. I quashed all my doubts about whether I was doing this for the dog or for the rest of us. I quashed my lingering Buddhist fear that drugging the life out of a being is like sending them to the next world drunk and blindfolded ("go to the light. If it's spinning, just do the best you can".) I'd put all those doubts in a box and was the Strong Man moving ahead with the Date with Death.
But the good Doctor blew that all to hell. He hugged my wife, which made her sob so hard Blossom, on her pillow with an acupuncture needle between her eyes, became concerned. "You don't think we should do it today?"
"Listen to your heart," he says to me.
"My heart has nothing to do with this, you bonkers hippy!"
Didn’t say that, of course. My will was gone. One moment I'm standing there somberly, ready to hold Blossom's head as she breathes her last breath, and the next minute I'm trying to browbeat my Vet into pulling the fucking trigger no matter how "bright" her damned eyes are. My wife is a puddle of tears, the Doctor is stroking Blossom, who lies on her royal pillow looking at us like a queen looking at her ministers. If I forced the issue now my wife will think of it as... what it is. Her husband killing her beloved dog. It will haunt me forever.
To make sure I got the point, Blossom had diarrhea all over the back of the car on the way home.
POST SCRIPT: Blossom died peacefully the following day, unassisted. She stood up on her own for the first time in many days, walked to her water bowl, took a long drink, and went back to her spot. On our way out the door to pre school, Casey noticed she wasn't breathing. She had died, with ease, on her own.
So I take back what I said about the bonkers hippie.