The Loss

Last week I went on quite the tangent on how sometimes it is metaphorically important to kill a friendship. Today I am faced with the necessity of killing a true friend. Before anyone freaks out I am talking about my dog. His name is Elijah, Eli for short, and he is my nine-year-old schnauzer.

I’ve known for almost a year now that Eli has been sick, and we had a limited time left with him. All I know is that day has finally come. As I write this, my mom is taking Eli to be put to sleep. I can’t get over how peaceful that little phrase sounds. When I was little and a pet needed to be put down, my dad would always take me to do something fun like go to the zoo. This didn’t prevent me from realizing that my pet was dead. I didn’t have any delusions about what happened, but the trips would always soften the blow.

This is the first time that I’ve been old enough to really grieve and regret when we need to put a pet down (I’m not counting the random death of my other dog Zeke last year). Originally I wanted to go and be there for Mom, because Eli is her dog. But I just couldn’t do it. I knew I couldn’t look into his big, sad, brown eyes as they stuck a needle in his side and watch the life drain out of them.

I just can’t reconcile this sickly dog with the little puppy I brought home nine years ago. I don’t know where the time went, as cliché as that sounds! I know we’re doing the right thing, but that doesn’t make it any better. Eli is essentially starving because he can’t keep food down. That poor dog was essentially doomed anyway. I mean, the vet said that first his kidneys were failing, then that Eli might have cancer. We just couldn’t let him suffer any more and I know this needs to be done, but my heart feels so hollow. Eli and I essentially grew up together and I just can’t handle that he’s going to the long sleep.