Our Last Journey Together

I don't know where to begin, except I let my soulmate go.

I had a lot of doubts yesterday. I felt guilt. I wasn't sure if this is what he wanted, because I was confused by his last rally to be perky and cute with me. But deep down I knew - my heart knew - it was time. My friend had offered to go with us, but thankfully he was considerate and kept his distance. He knew that Sparky was a Momma's Boy. He knew that he would want me all to himself, and anything different would be cause for 'concern'.

I had fed him another hefty dose of deli meats before we left, placed him in the car on the passenger seat beside me, with his paws draped over my legs. The entire way to the vet, I was able to pet him and talk to him. My friend decided to take his own car, giving us even more space. I had read somewhere to stay as calm as possible, to not let your emotions run wild, to not upset your fur child in any way before "it" was done. It was difficult, but I told him how much I loved him, how proud I was of him, how much joy he gave me, how he was the best puppy there ever was and ever will be, and how it was time for him to return to puppyhood, and to have a good ol' time at the Rainbow Bridge. I think he was listening to me.

When we arrived at the vet, I decided to keep him outside on a juicy patch of green grass. He always loved grass and he loved to rub his face and whole body across it. This time he kept circling for a good 5 minutes before sitting down and watching other dogs go by. It must have been a lab convention somewhere because we saw countless labs, right and left. Sparky was a big lab lover, probably because of his heritage. But this time I could tell that he had grown tired. Even though he kept an eye on everything, it wasn't the usual excitement I was used to. Another sign that things were not right, that my boy was tired. Suddenly the door to the vet opened and an older gentleman with a black female lab came out. Sparky showed immediate interest, rose, ears half-way perked, and his tail wagging as much as he could in his position. It was wonderful to see him one last time; he saw something that made him happy. It was almost as if he was trying to show off; as if he had forgotten what brought us there. It was bitter-sweet.

Soon thereafter the vet tech arrived with the first shot in hand. We had decided to give him the sedative out on the grass to help him relax, and we would later move him inside to a room to give the second shot to stop his heart. I watched my baby-boy get sleepy and offered my hand to rest his face in. The entire time, 20 minutes, I kept repeating how much he meant to me, how this was the right thing, how I would be okay, and how I would insist on him checking in with me every week, if not every day. My heart was breaking into a million pieces but I made it without crying. I didn't want to worry him in any way.

Even though it had been 20 minutes, I felt the lab techs came back too soon to put him on a gurney and carry him in. When they had turned his back to me, he immediately rose up in high alert, looking for me... I'll never forget. We settled in a room, where they gave me another 10 minutes to talk with him, to pet him, to explain to him how everything will be alright, and to make absolutely sure that he had been the best dog to ever walk this Earth.

The vet arrived and explained the procedure to me. She said she would shave his leg a little, find a vein, and once the injection was completed, he would be gone within seconds. I asked her to tell me when, so I could make doubly sure that he would get one last final squeeze from me. The entire time I remained on eye level with him, and whenever he opened his eyes, he would see my smiling face, no matter how hard I wanted to cry.

In true Sparky-fashion, he refused to make things easy. The vet told me how his vein was "uncooperative", and how she couldn't believe she had such a hard time. I had to laugh a little, because it was so Sparky. He had many health scares in his lifetime, and he should have died quite a few times before, but he always insisted on fighting the fight, on sticking around. Eventually she found the vein: "It's time". I held his paw, stroked his face, whispered to him how much I loved him, kissed his face and that was it. Over. So quick. But it was peaceful and just what we needed. When she listened for a heartbeat and shook her head, I fell apart... gone. I sobbed, like I have sobbed so many times in the last few days. I was overwhelmed by the immediate emptiness. Years and years of absolute devotion to this little guy - gone. My life's purpose - gone. He meant the entire world to me. He came before everything else. Nothing was ever done without him on the forefront of my mind.

The vet was in tears as well. Sparky had been such a lover, such a ladies' man; every woman, human or canine, always fell for him. His vet was no exception. I didn't want to leave him there. It felt wrong to walk out of there with my companion left behind. But I somehow got the courage and walked away.

I didn't really cry when I got home. I felt a strange comfort when I was standing in my living room. I looked over to his favorite spot in front of the TV. Years of him lounging there have discolored the tile, and I always refused to clean with chemicals there because I knew my baby slept there. Now I have a brown spot in the shape of a sleeping dog there ... Sometimes it feels comforting, sometimes it causes heartbreak.

I cried when I came home from dinner. It was 8 pm and I felt lonely, and empty. Even though I had prepared myself and actually told myself when I walked up to my house, that Sparky was not going to be there, my initial reaction was to look for him when the door swung open. I spent the rest of the night crying for my little boy and kneeling in front of the TV, where carpet meets the tiles, trying to be comforted by his scent that still lingers there ... I miss him so much.