The Bloody Doors Off

Brandy, our family poodle, was 11 when he was hit by a truck in Tillsonburg.

I wasn’t there to say goodbye. That always bothered me.

It took me over 15 years to allow a new pet in my life.

He was a stray kitten my nephews had named Tigger. They couldn’t care for him properly, so I adopted the rascal. He used to climb on my bedroom furniture and knock over any loose change at 3 in the morning.

He was still very young when he got crystals. My girlfriend Suzi footed the bill for his operation because I couldn’t afford it. He survived close to a year, choosing to hide in our bedroom closet after she and I had rented a one-bedroom condo.

It was quick.

Willow was adopted soon after. A black and white domestic short hair cat, she lived to be eight before she suddenly took ill. I took her to the vet; there was no real option. We said goodbye in the exam room.

During Willow’s time with me, I adopted a tortie that I named Roo. (Can’t have a Tigger without a Roo.) She also lived to about 8 years old. Roo also became sick. There were no warning signs. I found her in the hall closet, wrapped her in a blanket and frantically searched for an emergency vet.

She died before I could dial the number.

There’s a pattern here.

My furbabies, to this point, had quick endings. (Hannah and Izzy are going to be 14 this year, and I swear they’re still on the first of their 9 lives.)

It wasn’t prolonged.

The grief hit immediately, and hard. But there was no time to really think about it.

I ‘adopted’ Auggie when I became a part of Marlo and the Boy’s lives. I’ve had the privilege of being her “Papa” since 2017.

Friday evening, after a lot of discussion with both my wife and a cardiologist at the Animal Hospital where Auggie was diagnosed with severe heart disease, I found a mobile palliative veterinary service that cater to geriatric care and end of life in a setting of your choosing.

I took the Quality of Life Scale, because there was a part of me that still hoped.

When the punch to the gut faded, I filled out their online form. Surprisingly, I received an email response around 9pm, even though their hours said they closed at 6pm on Fridays. They gave me their availability. Marlo and I discussed it and accepted the time offered.

They called Saturday morning to confirm, and spent 10 minutes taking me through all that would happen, including the aftercare.

I wanted so badly to change my mind.

But without her pills, Auggie’s time is extremely limited. Her belly will resume filling with fluid, breathing will become even more difficult. Auggie’s energy is already waning. She lost half a kilogram in a matter of weeks.

And we can’t let her suffer.

But even now.

I don’t want to go to sleep because that means Monday will arrive when I wake up.

Then I remind myself that it’s already after 12 am; Monday is here, fuck my feelings.

The vet said they would call again this morning, to make final arrangements.

I feel like a monster for going through with it.

And a coward if I back out.

I know we can’t.

We must do what is absolutely best for our missus.

I need to shoulder this pain.

So she won’t suffer.