The day I dreaded more than any other has come. My best buddy, Yukon Cornelius, is gone.
The emotions are too overwhelming and the thoughts too jumbled to express, but anyone who's been loved by an animal can empathize with what I'm going through. So I'll just tell a little about what happened.
Yukon showed no sign of anything amiss. He danced for his supper, ate heartily, trotted up and down the streets of our neighborhood with me and snored like an old man while he slept.
Friday night was the first he gave any indication something was wrong. At bedtime, he climbed as far as the top landing of the steps and no more, despite calls for him to come to bed. The next day he turned up his nose at his kibble both at breakfast and supper. He lacked his usual energy but gave no cause for alarm. My friend Lois was visiting for the weekend and we packed our schedule with events, not realizing his life was ebbing away.
When he refused his kibble Sunday morning, I picked at my scrambled eggs and contemplated taking him for an expensive trip to the emergency vet. Finally I made the call, and Lois and I piled ourselves and Yukon into her car, bound for the vet. As Yukon ambled – and sniffed – his way into the building, I had no idea it would be our last walk together.
In short, X-rays and an ultrasound revealed that half of Yukon's heart had stopped beating, causing blood to pool in the liver. The only (remote) chance of extending his life was with a $3,000-$5,000 operation to insert a pacemaker. But the vet said she couldn't even guarantee that he'd survive the anesthesia necessary for surgery.
Even if the procedure had been free, it wouldn't be right to ask my best buddy to suffer simply to postpone my pain. After an agonizing good-bye, the vet administered the tranquilizer and Yukon went to sleep forever. I sobbed as I cradled his warm but lifeless body, unwilling to let each touch or look be my last. I snipped off bits of fur, here from the thick tri-colored mane around his neck, there from the graceful white finger of hair that curved into the black saddle on his back.
At home, the site of this unfinished rawhide chew toy or that newly-purchased bag of dog food brings fresh tears. In my mind I wrestle over whether to remember or forget. If you've ever been loved by an animal, you know exactly what I mean.
