Yesterday would have been to soon to let her go and tomorrow too late. She was done, her beautiful body broken beyond repair, its parts all worn out. I was not ready to let her go. In between wracking sobs, I kept telling her things I wanted her to have in her mind on her last day. Things I remembered about us — when we lived together in our cabin in the woods and how we went to the beach every day. She was always the fastest dog on the beach.
Lucy was so well loved. Many vistors come to say goodbye. My beautiful neighbor Kaumudi did an impromptu puja ceremony to pass her to the next place, and to welcome fortune and goodness in her wake. The candles are still burning tonight for our sweet girl.
The mobile vet arrived in green scrubs. He was sweet and took his time and gave us room to nuzzle her fur and tell her our final words. I told Lucy that where she’s going is one huge beach, with lots of stairways up to people’s yards, and nobody cares if dogs come over. At this place, the squirrels are very slow and sometimes fall out of trees. There is as much ice cream as you want and you never have to fetch anything or take a bath. It’s also home to her dog friends Fred and Chloe and Bilbo and Paolo, and my Dad, who could probably use a dog up there.
One injection relaxed her, the pain drifting out of her body. Another slowed her breathing. And she just stopped.
I would bet good money that she’s the fastest dog on the beach again.