Have you ever had the rotten experience of
having to put a pet down?
Growing up, my dad told stories about putting
down pets on their small farm on the Kootenai River. They didn’t have the luxury of taking their
animals to the vet. Every fall, we hunted for deer and elk. Death never bothered me when it came to
animals. I learned early about the cycle of life.
My sophomore or junior year, my dog, Daisy,
somehow escaped out of our fenced year. I
ran after her, but a pack of dogs found her first. They attacked with a vicious
abandon. They shredded her up. Dad drove
to the vet while I held her in my lap. Anguish and anger filled me. The vet examined her right away with grim
news.
“I can save her, but the expense will be high,”
he told my dad and nervously looked over at me with sympathy.
Dad looked at me, giving me the nod to say what
I thought.
“What will her quality of life be?” I asked,
already knowing.
His response has left my memory, but as I
suspected, Daisy would remain in pain the rest of her life.
“The decision is yours,” my dad stated.
Though a family pet, Daisy and I shared a
special bond. She followed me
everywhere. Every night, she slept on my bed.
I adored her, and she adored me. I didn't want to see her in pain for
years. Mom and Dad couldn't afford the
expense. The choice, though hard, was
simple. With tears in my eyes, I told
the vet she needed to be put down. He
would take care of it.
“I want to be with her.”
Dad nodded when the vet looked over at him with
surprise. "Do you want me to stay
with you?" he asked.
"No, I will be okay."
The process took no time at all. The vet injected Daisy with something while I
kept my hands on her body. He left the
room. I held one of her paws and stroked her head. I stayed a little longer
after her last breath. Though sad, I
took comfort in being able to say good-bye, to give her love on her journey.
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