He’s dead.

Hermangiosarcoma and seizures.

He was still a whelp at the end. Lady said it’d take a minute. He let go as soon as she pushed. He was done.

Least he was in his bed. Surrounded by family. Hearing his name, saying we loved him in circles, stomach coated in vanilla ice cream, the taste still in his mouth. Feeling cold tears lay on his fur, as he slipped from this world, spiraling away from this day into another.

I walk into the house and think I’m going to see him. See his reflections in glass. Expect to hear his nails tap the wood. But that’s the thing. I ain’t seeing him fall down anymore. Seeing him uneasy, slipping on tile, refusing to eat. No more waking up to him having a seizure, no more hearing his breaths and figuring if they’re short, or checking his gums to see if he’s anemic again. The cancer made tumors swell like grapes along his veins and his hotwired brain threw him to the ground, made him fall over and tumble, hard. The gentle slip on a Kirkland Signature dog bed was preferable to a soon bleary afternoon where that bad hand would lead us all to ferry him, in utter fear and agony, to the exact same fate. Holding on for our sake, not his. It was time.

Jack was the kinder dog. The other, Joe, was a brute. No fear in him. He was old but lived his own way. When he went, it was what it was. And he was a 15 year old Labrador, what more do you want?

Jack was a coward. Afraid. Anxious. That’s harder to square. Least for me.

Apr 2014 - Jul 2024