Personal: a boy and his dog

Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.

― William Shakespeare, Macbeth

I walked in the clinic's patient room and she eagerly stood to greet me. Tail wagging, ears back, and dark brown eyes that pierced my soul. She took a few steps towards me, but then stopped. I glanced at Michael. Tears streamed down his face with a look that said more than I wanted to hear. I could tell she was in pain and I could sense that she knew exactly what was going on.

I'd only heard from my brother minutes before about what had happened. He'd called to let me know he'd rushed his 90lb baby to the emergency vet after coming home to an unusually lethargic pup. She'd lost some weight in the last few weeks, but he'd thought it was just a sign of aging. American Bulldogs don't tend to live long, and even in her youthful 5 years, it was possible she was already slowing down. The ultrasound was chilling and my stomach turned. I tried not to break down for my brother's sake, but that didn't last long. The vet-tech explained that Brooklyn's stomach was filling with blood. Somehow, she'd had a mass inside that'd burst and it was clearly out of control. There was so much fluid in her belly that without surgery, they wouldn't know what was causing it...a tumor, cancerous masses, or a benign growth on the spleen... I leaned in to listen, trying to digest the information and focus without my emotions... I prayed there was good news hidden somewhere. Possibly a glimmer of hope? But there wasn't. Michael was given two choices: Perform the surgery immediately to identify the cause and try to save her, or opt to euthanize. If no choice was made, she said, Brooklyn would pass away...she'd bleed out...

The door opened. My father walked in. The sudden break in silence helped to disrupt my thoughts. My mind was littered with them. I thought back to when Michael first got Brooke.

I'd been so excited about him getting this dog, I'd actually driven with him and his girlfriend to the Springs to pick her out. He was specific in wanting a female and one that was brindled. When I saw her for the first time, she was honestly the most beautiful dog I'd even seen. Her parents were terrifyingly large, but I knew Michael could handle it. He'd always wanted a dog he could wrestle and growing up with terriers hadn't made that easy. We'd taken her home that same night and for a few weeks, Brooklyn was my buddy. Michael was still in college at the time and since I ran a business with my husband, while he was in class, I watched Brooke. I laughed at how she'd trip on her own big feet and I loved that with me, she snuggled. When Michael returned from class each day, both of them would lock eyes. And for a moment or so, a boy and his dog were all that mattered in the world.

It was then that I realized this moment was no different. A boy and his dog. It was all that mattered. Yet we were all just sitting in pain. The kind of pain that draws tears from your eyes that burn. We fought to hold them back. It's as if we tried hard enough to keep them from flowing, all the pain will go away. The problems disappear. He and Brooke could just go on home.

The minutes ticked by slowly, painfully, and I tried to help my brother make a decision. It had been 40 minute since I'd arrived and Brooklyn could no longer stand. She stayed on her belly the rest of the night, but somehow managed to wag her tail every time the nurses came in and out, or each time we said her name.

After a long discussion and three-thousand tears, we'd all come to the painful realization that her chances of survival, even with surgery, were slim. Euthanasia was going to be the best option. Yet, is it possible that this really is the "best" option?! It was becoming clear that life's ability to end abruptly was all too real. Things that render a person powerless are some of the hardest moments in life.

We choose to spend her last moments in prayer, and in as much of a snuggle as she was comfortable with. Michael patted her head and rubbed her ears. Her forehead, stained with tears. It was in these moments that I hesitated to even take pictures. But I kept shooting. If this is the last time I see her, I want to remember her now. How in the midst of what must have been immense pain, she still managed to smile at us with her big brown eyes, wag her tail in joy, and gaze at Michael with a trust only dogs have been known to give.

The nurse warned us the euthanasia would be quick. It wasn't minutes, but seconds later, that Brooklyn laid her head down one last time. Her eyes closed, and we all let the tears fall. I wept over that big dog like I haven't wept in years. My heart hurt for my brother's loss and I wished to take it from him. My keyboard is wet with tears as I type...

I will never forget her, or the simple lessons of sacred life she taught. Life is hard sometimes. It just is.

In His hands is the life of every creature and the breath of all mankind. ― Job 12:10

Brooklyn Crabbs 10/2007 - 3/2012