Tia

The door swings on its creaky hinge as me, my parents, and my brother walk into the pet hospital. I’m hit with a wave of wet dog, bird cage, and cat pee, desperately masked with several fruity smelling air fresheners. Two steps forward in and the smell of alcohol reminds us why we’re here. 

Tia squirms slightly in my arms, clearly reacting to the same smells. Smells that for a Border Collie are amplified ten-fold. I look down at her gentle face as it turns up to mine. I hold her in my arms, because the leash felt wrong. She’s wrapped in a white sheet. Something to keep her warm, something clean, something new and expensive, something to show that she was noble, something to keep the dirt off her precious fur when she’s laid to rest in the ravine under the apple tree.

I wonder if she knows why we’re here. I can’t tell if the light in her dark brown eyes is a question or a goodbye.

I remember carrying her like this when I had just become a teenager, I thought I was so strong. She fought me then, limbs flailing. She did everything she could to get back to the ground. Tia was a decent sized dog and she was heavy for a 12 year old. 5 years later, she’s still heavy, but I would hold her in my arms for days if it meant I didn’t have to go through with this. Her soft fur and brittle bones rest peacefully now, no fighting. 

She’s in so much pain. But she’s happy. 

She’s in so much pain. 

She’s alive, she’s family, and her fur is rich swaths of black, white and brown. Tia is the opposite of everything this place is. This place is too dark, too normal, and too gray to be her last memory. 

The doctor is gentle. He walks us back to a small room just beyond the lobby. The room has a counter, some cupboards, a sink, and a metal table. I lay her down on the table, she barely moves a muscle and sinks into the cold surface. She knows. 

The doctor explains sympathetically what’s going to happen. Even though we’re kind and smiling, he knows we’ll be sobbing like children in a mere minute or so.

“It’s just this needle right here.” With a gloved hand he casually raises a small syringe filled with orange fluid. “I’ll put it in her ankle and it will only take a few seconds to take effect.” I want to swat it out of his hand.

The doctor puts the syringe behind his back, “I’ll give you a moment to say goodbye.” He takes a step back into the corner of the room. 

We’re the reason she’s here. We’re paying him to do this. 

I take comfort in knowing he won’t do it until we’re ready. We could change our minds if we wanted. 

She’s in so much pain. 

I lean down next to Tia and place my hand just under her soft ear. She doesn’t turn to look at me. I don’t want to look her in the eyes. She knows. Is she mad? Does she feel betrayed?

I lean forward to look into her dark, kind eyes. Those eyes that say everything.

I’m inches away from her sweet face, so close she can tell me the truth. Gray hairs swirling speckle her face. A dry nose and floppy ears. Black lips that don’t hug her teeth like they used to. She flashes the white’s of her eyes as she looks over her shoulder towards the doctor, veiny and browning. Her breaths are so soft. She’s ready.

My chest burns, my head fills with pressure and brings me to my knees. Tears burn down my cheeks as I cup her face in my hands. I kiss her just above her eyes between the ears.

“I love you Tia. Thank you for everything, sweet girl.”

I watch the needle go in her ankle. She doesn’t even flinch. 

It only took seconds.