We had a much nicer way to say goodbye scheduled, but the cancer in your jaw had progressed too quickly. We knew we needed to bring you to the emergency vet Friday night, instead of the quiet back yard on Saturday. I know there was no way anyone could have predicted it, but I still was angry at myself for not being able to make it better for you. You hated car rides. And the vet.
Still we did our best. I went to take you on your last walk. You loved walks. More than most anything else, aside from your family. So I grabbed your collar and leash, and you whined like you always did when you knew you were going for a walk. Just a little bit quieter, though. You were tired. We could all see it.
We went out the door and off the porch. I said "Step Down" like we always did, so you wouldn't trip. You knew where both of those steps were, but it was our routine. You took the turn in the front walk, and the intersection to the main sidewalk like a pro. You were the best dog walking on a lead I had ever known, and people would always be shocked when they saw us walking and would remark how beautiful you were. Shocked when they realized you didn't have any eyes.
Inbreeding has consequences for any dog bread, and for Collies, one of them is blindness. You were bred from show winners, and you would have been one as well. If you had eyes. Not that any of that mattered to us, and it certainly didn't ever seem to matter to you. You walked perfectly on lead, you knew your way around the house, and would map out any new place we brought you to, so you would know where all the obstacles were. You still would play and run with other dogs, and would chase the kids around the yard. You loved chasing me through the house, and I learned that I couldn't hide from you. You were even better with your hearing and sense of smell than sighted dogs. I had to stand on the dining room table to keep you from finding me, and that was cheating. You knew I was there. You just didn't know what the top of the table was. You would still pull all of the toilet paper off the roll if we put it on the holder, even after keeping it on the sink for a year. And you would catch rabbits in the back yard. I still don't know how you did that
You were our "Sassy Lassie", or "Assie Lassie", depending on your mood. But you were never mean. You were just filled with personality. I called you "Sockets", for obvious reasons. You would always go through the house and look for all of us every morning when you got up. With Covid, I didn't have a job to go to anymore, so I would sleep in. I would find you laying next to my bed when I woke up. Sometimes after getting yourself curled into my covers hanging off the side of the bed so you could pull them all off for yourself. Sassy, indeed.
So when we reached the intersection to the main sidewalk from our home's sidewalk, we went to the right. You were perfectly walking to heel as I turned. What a wonderful dog, I thought to myself. I went to the alley at the edge of our property, and was going to use it to make a loop to turn us around and back to the house. I had heard that you refused to turn around on an earlier walk, and had exhausted yourself and had a difficult time making it home. I thought I was doing you a favor. You, as always saw right through my tricks. As I made a big circle to to try to come back West towards the house, you pulled towards the East, right back in the same direction we had been walking. It was then I realized what you were trying to do. You just wanted to keep walking. Away from the house, away from life. You knew it was time. Your instincts told you what to do to protect your pack. Unfortunately, we domesticated your species, and things couldn't work like that anymore. I couldn't let you just wander away to die under someone's porch.
No, instead I had to take you on a car ride. Which you hated. My wife held you on her lap, and hugged you and cried. You were too weak to complain or fight much. That didn't make me feel any better about it. We waited in the car for the emergency vet to let us in. Only two people per pet for euthanasia. My wife insisted on carrying you inside. She took a lock of your fur to carry with her forever. You really didn't like the vet, even though you had never been to this one. They all look different to us, but are the same to you. They all smell the same. Sound the same. Feel the same.
They took you in the back to put a catheter in your back leg for the injections. We wish we could have gone back there with you. It had to be scary to be alone. Then they brought you back out. We weren't going to let you go without us being there with you. We wanted the last things you remembered to be us telling you that you were a good girl. To feel us both holding you. The process is so short. The vet first injected something to make you sleepy. Then something else. He then said your heart had stopped. It was so odd to me that you were there moments ago. You were still so warm. But you were gone.
You were a very good girl. I hope we were good enough to you.
