A Dog Year by Jon Katz

Author:Jon Katz
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781588361141
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2002-02-18T16:00:00+00:00

Four days later, at eight a.m., I drove Stanley to Dr. King’s office. Her receptionist asked if I wanted to be with him when he got the injection. Of course I did. I wouldn’t let him die alone.

Dr. King barely said a word. “You sure this is the right thing?” I asked, and she nodded. We both knew the fewer words, the better. Besides, there was really nothing to say.

I sat on the floor with him, holding him, setting his blue ball down beside him. Dr. King injected a dose of yellow anesthesia into his rump. In a few minutes, he wouldn’t be feeling anything, she said.

I felt an almost desperate panic. Maybe I should stop this; maybe it wasn’t too late. But I fought back the urge.

“Thank you,” I said, hugging him. “Thank you, thank you.” He struggled to get to his feet, couldn’t manage, looked bewildered and disoriented. He licked my hands, then started to cough and tremble. “I love you, pal, I love you, I love you.” I couldn’t stop crying now.

His eyes dilated and he lay flat on the floor, his legs splayed at an odd angle. I rearranged him so he would have more dignity, kept stroking him.

I wish there’d been a better, more pastoral place to do this, a sunny meadow rather than a cold linoleum floor. But Stanley probably didn’t know where he was anymore.

A few minutes later, Dr. King came back into the room with another needle and asked if I was okay, if I was ready. I nodded. She injected the needle, and I put my hand on Stanley’s big heart. I could feel it stop.

She listened with her stethoscope. “He’s gone,” she said.

I kissed him on his nose, patted his head, and left the room.

I knew there were lots of people in the waiting room, including kids, so outside the door I literally sucked it up, taking a deep breath. One of Dr. King’s assistants wordlessly handed me some tissues. I said goodbye to the somber vet, who nodded and patted me on the shoulder.

The waiting room held the usual eclectic assortment of cats, dogs, and, over in one corner, a little girl clutching her rheumy-eyed puppy.

I smiled at her. “Don’t worry,” I told her as I left. “Dr. King will take good care of your puppy.”

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