R.I.P. McKenzie

On the day you find that adorable little puppy, tractor-beam eyes sucking you into their little puppy soul, there are thoughts that definitely do NOT enter your mind. Like the eventual last day of sharing your life with this creature. McKenzie was with us for 13 mostly good years. He was a very devoted family member, not given to much barking unless for good reason. Very even tempered even towards the end, when arthritis and other ailments made him a little cranky at times.

We finally made the decision that it was time to give him his ticket to doggy heaven. I made the appointment for about a week out. The date was for September 13th, 2007. Also my 46th birthday. Not planned that way, but the date was open for the vet and for myself. It just unfolded that way. Each day I secretly wished he might succumb to age naturally, so that I would not be required to drive him, literally, to his grave. The mixed feelings were strange for me because I thought I was quite ready for life without my dog. I had long desired a reality that did not require me to come home for lunch daily to let him out for his bathroom breaks. For lawn mowing days that did not include disposing of his little presents scattered artistically on the back lawn. For nights out without the self imposed deadline for making it home, or the need to ask a neighbor or relative to come by and let him out. But after the actual date with the vet was set, I found it all very sad and confusing.

The confusion was in dealing with two conflicting sentiments. The giddy feeling of impending freedom from all of those obligations, and the dread and guilt of hastening that freedom. I found that it really does not matter that you have the comforting knowledge that it is the best thing for the dog. There is still that guilt, saturating your entire being as you drive down the highway. Looking over at your trusting dog, who seems a bit more peppy than he has in weeks, tongue rolled out, gazing all around, wondering what the big adventure down the road might be. In the end, the vet listened to his heart and let me know that his was at its end. She was surprised it was still beating, enlarged, and with an "enormous murmur". She and her assistant laid him down, talking to him affectionately. Stroking him and giving him his last bit of nirvana here on earth. He did not even seem to notice me leaving the room. I did, because to stay would have not been good for him or for me. I'm not usually an emotional type of guy, but to my surprise, I was heading in that direction fast. Thanks for the good years McKenzie.