A DIFFICULT GIFT TO GIVE

by Randy C. Watts  480-343-3868

Last week I had an experience that I can't seem to get out of my mind. It reminded me that my heart is still capable of snapping like a guitar string. 

I was in the lobby at the veterinarian's office. Our English Bulldog, Bosco, was waiting to go in to see the doctor for his annual physical. His girlfriend, Bobbi Sue (our other English Bulldog) was already in the examination room for her physical.  A tough-looking man came in with a small dog in his arms. I think it was a terrier mix. The man was wearing sunglasses, and had no expression whatsoever on his face. I nodded to him as he walked in, and got no response. In fact, his face was devoid of any recognizable emotion whatsoever. I sensed that something was amiss. The woman who walked in with him went directly to the counter to speak to the receptionist.

The dog was, for lack of a more masculine term, adorable. Her big ears were sticking straight out, as though she were listening to every sound she could. She had the look of a kindergartner excited to be on a field trip. However, I could tell that she was anything but young. She was quivering a bit, and strands of gray had invaded the once-jet-black coat she wore. The corners of her eyes were terribly bloodshot. She was groaning slightly, but wide awake, looking around with wonder. I could tell how much trust and love this little dog had for the man who was stroking her coat. He held her so gently, as if he were holding a newborn. He sat down across from me and waited while the woman, who I assume was his wife, stayed at the desk. By the bits and pieces I gleaned from the whispered conversation, I could tell that the merciful decision had been made to put the little seventeen-year-old gal to rest ... eternal rest.

Just then, another woman stepped into the waiting area and walked over to the man and patted him lightly on the shoulder.  He broke into sobs as the woman gently kissed the dog on the top of her little head. "I just came to tell you goodbye," she said to the quivering pup.

As she walked back out, tears were streaming down her face. The man was now unable to hold back his deep emotion, and no longer tried. I spotted a box of Kleenex on the receptionist counter, which I retrieved and took to the man. I told him how hard it must be, and set the Kleenex beside him. He was unable to respond, but gave me a nod of thanks. He sobbed right up to the time that I suppose he had been dreading. I watched them disappear behind the door leading to the treatment rooms.

I will never get over the sincere look of concern on the little dog's face as she looked up at the man when he began to cry. It seemed like she was concerned more about her master than about the pain that was making her groan. It was as though she were trying to comfort him, having no idea what lie in store for her. I could feel the incredible bond between the two, which was about to come to an earthly end.

It took quite some time for the lump in my throat to subside. I didn't know the man, nor did I know the dog, but I did recognize a love that had grown into something that should never have to end so suddenly. 

But that is life, and that is death, and the two constantly collide.