Southern Legitimacy Statement: As someone who grew up in the military, I’ve lived everywhere. Despite the military bases all around the world, my father’s job always seemed to bring us back to the south. From the south I’ve picked up an uncontrollable use of “y’all” and the best southern drawl to use when singing country music.
Torgi the Corgi
I ran my hand through the smooth fur on Torgi’s back, he looked back at me with tired eyes. He’d stopped walking around the small office of the veterinary clinic, where he was accepting our goodbyes, to pause in front of me. The nurse was giving us ten, maybe fifteen minutes with him.
I wiped the rivulets of warm tears from my eyes, I could barely see him anymore. I needed to see him now. His tongue lolled out the side of his mouth slightly, he was still smiling–he was always smiling. Always, always, always.
I took a shaky breath as he strode away to my older sister. She cupped his ears and scratched under them, he leaned into the touch as her tears fell down onto his fur.
“Poor boy,” my mother whispered. Small tears lined her eyes as she took the five of us in. My parents and my two sisters and I, all surrounding him. He was fifteen–my age. He was my same-age-buddy, always had been. I had never been without him.
“He lived a good life,” my dad said. He seemed impassive, but I knew the attempt at a lack of emotion meant he was feeling it all. He stared at the dog–at his best friend. His face contorted in a way I’d never seen before. I tried to swallow another sob as the sadness overwhelmed me. I felt my head begin to ache as I pushed my sadness into it.
“I walked out of the bedroom this morning and he just lay there in a puddle of his own urine,” my mother said in a thick voice. “After we bathed him, he sat with your dad most of the day, but eventually I had to come and bring him up here.”
I saw the sad parallel between our two dogs, Twix the dog we’d lost two months prior had lain in a puddle of his own urine, the night before he passed. When I bathed him that night, it had been the last time I’d seen him. Some part of me, the part that scrubbed myself clean in the shower, was happy to know that they were soft and clean when they went.
Torgi walked back up to me, he licked the tears off my palms. I almost choked on the pain–I never, ever let him lick me, no it was gross. I wanted to curl into a ball as I thought of all the times I wished I’d sat with him. The guilt swam around my body. It sat behind my eyes, taking its form in the migraine piercing my skull.
“Are we ready?” a voice said from the doorway. The veterinarian stood there, her short gray hair was light and fluffy on top of her head.
“Yes,” my mother said, barely able to talk. We were shattered. My little sister sat in the corner of the room biting her fist. Only two months earlier she’d held her seven month old puppy as he’d gone. I couldn’t bear looking at her.
The vet approached the counter, as she washed her hands and pulled on her gloves we watched her pull out two bottles of liquid.
“This,” she indicated one of the vials, “is a sedative. It’ll keep him from feeling any pain.” She began to prepare a syringe and I felt my throat clawing out of my body. All my organs pulled away from inside of me, like they were rearranging to make room for this new loss.
“I can’t watch this,” my older sister said. She stood up and wrapped her arms around Torgi and then walked out. The vet nodded quietly and I knew then I didn’t want to watch it either. I couldn’t watch it happen. I couldn’t–just couldn’t watch the life drain from him.
I threw myself out of my seat, “Me neither,” I said. My parents only nodded.
I stepped towards the table and stared into his eyes. He always had the best puppy dog eyes. I pulled him close to me, wrapping my arms around him in a tight hug. He smelled like the apple shampoo we used for him back at the house, his fur was soft and clean, and he settled into my hug.
“I’m so sorry we have to say goodbye. I love you so much, buddy,” I whispered into his ear. He licked my ear in return.
