I just posted this on Facebook, and I'm copying and pasting it here because I don't have the strength to write about it again.
My little sweetie experienced severe breathing problems last night; it was so bad, I thought she might suffocate. Finally, it eased.
Today, she seemed to be doing better, but she couldn't get comfortable. When I saw that she had to breathe through her mouth, I had to make that decision that animal lovers dread.
My vet is open on Saturdays. I took her there, and the vet confirmed that nothing could be done. I held her and petted her and told her how much I love her. The vet gave her a sedative first, so she could relax and fall asleep before the final injection.
I held her chin in my hand so that she could see me. I wanted my face to be the last thing she saw. Her eyes gradually closed, and her breathing eased. I was scared that she had actually stopped breathing, but saw her abdomen rise and fall.
I kissed her head several times, then left the room. I sat on the stairs, rather than in the waiting room, because I didn't want the other pet owners to see me.
A man walked up to me and said, "We spoke on the phone earlier." I looked up, and it took me a minute to realize what he meant. He works for a pet cremation company. I called them before I went to the vet. They pick up pets and bring them to the crematorium.
It only took a few minutes - and by that, I mean that it was less than five minutes when the vet told me it was all over. I went back into the room, and she was covered with a sheet. The vet asked me if I wanted to see her, and I said no. I did put my hand under the sheet to pet her tail, one last time. The vet told me she could give me some of my little baby's fur, and I accepted.
I went out to the reception to pay for it. I think the vet should have to pay the patients for this. I paid, and the assistant came out and handed me a little bag with some fur. The guy from the cremation company came out just after that, holding my little darling carefully. She was wrapped in a pink blanket. I put my hand on her briefly.
I had to take a taxi home; I couldn't face public transportation. As I was waiting for the taxi, the guy from the cremation company came around the corner from leaving her in the pickup van. He stopped and talked to me, and I'm so grateful for his compassion. He told me that they'll call me after the cremation. I don't know when it will be.
Now, I'm back at the space I inhabit. It's not a home. She made it a home. And now she's gone. I have never learned so much about love from anyone as I have from her.
My little sweetie experienced severe breathing problems last night; it was so bad, I thought she might suffocate. Finally, it eased.
Today, she seemed to be doing better, but she couldn't get comfortable. When I saw that she had to breathe through her mouth, I had to make that decision that animal lovers dread.
My vet is open on Saturdays. I took her there, and the vet confirmed that nothing could be done. I held her and petted her and told her how much I love her. The vet gave her a sedative first, so she could relax and fall asleep before the final injection.
I held her chin in my hand so that she could see me. I wanted my face to be the last thing she saw. Her eyes gradually closed, and her breathing eased. I was scared that she had actually stopped breathing, but saw her abdomen rise and fall.
I kissed her head several times, then left the room. I sat on the stairs, rather than in the waiting room, because I didn't want the other pet owners to see me.
A man walked up to me and said, "We spoke on the phone earlier." I looked up, and it took me a minute to realize what he meant. He works for a pet cremation company. I called them before I went to the vet. They pick up pets and bring them to the crematorium.
It only took a few minutes - and by that, I mean that it was less than five minutes when the vet told me it was all over. I went back into the room, and she was covered with a sheet. The vet asked me if I wanted to see her, and I said no. I did put my hand under the sheet to pet her tail, one last time. The vet told me she could give me some of my little baby's fur, and I accepted.
I went out to the reception to pay for it. I think the vet should have to pay the patients for this. I paid, and the assistant came out and handed me a little bag with some fur. The guy from the cremation company came out just after that, holding my little darling carefully. She was wrapped in a pink blanket. I put my hand on her briefly.
I had to take a taxi home; I couldn't face public transportation. As I was waiting for the taxi, the guy from the cremation company came around the corner from leaving her in the pickup van. He stopped and talked to me, and I'm so grateful for his compassion. He told me that they'll call me after the cremation. I don't know when it will be.
Now, I'm back at the space I inhabit. It's not a home. She made it a home. And now she's gone. I have never learned so much about love from anyone as I have from her.
Comment