Kennels in the Sky

"

The dog died this week. Our once wide-eyed golden English cocker spaniel signed his own death warrant. His handwriting on the consent form was a little shaky, but considering the pain he was in, it was a champion effort. Yes, I'm sad. But as I shook his hand for the last time, I knew it was for the best. His fingers were slipping for the first time: this wasn't the firm, masculine handshake I had once known. This was limp and without passion. It was time.

I don't want you to feel badly about it. Oh no, that's the last thing Bill would have wanted. In fact, I remember standing by his side on the doctor's slab and having him look at me with his big brown eyes, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and saying "No tears, sonny. No tears". Of course, he didn't know what he was saying. He was delirious from loss of blood and anesthetic. But the sentiment remained as true as ever.

He went with dignity, something that is often denied the canine euthanasia patient. Anyone who ever knew him would have been proud to see his strength and resolve as that green liquid entered his body. He went as casually as if he was just coming home from work, putting his coat and fedora on the hat-stand and plonking himself in front of the TV to watch repeats of the Bob Morrison Show. That's right, he died just as he had lived: like a regular dog. And we should all remember him as such.

"