Black Labrador Retriever
For almost 14 years, God blessed us with the companionship
of the sweetest, most-gentle, and loving dog I've ever known.
On Wednesday, October 22, 1997, I had him "put to sleep," a term
that will haunt me for the rest of my life. We are so inadequate that we
can't reliably diagnose what might be wrong with our pets and to do something
for them. Because of a massive growth in his chest and abdomen pressing
on his liver, he stopped eating. He came down from a healthy 90 pounds
to a mere 55 very skinny pounds.
On that dreadful morning, I brought him with me to the office. He stayed
close to me whenever I moved. I think he knew something was different about
this day. He wouldn't take any water; he did take a couple of peanuts from
my hand, but only a couple. When it was time to leave the office, I put
his leash on and said "come on Sly," and he slowly got to his
feet to respond to my command. We met a couple of my co-workers on the
way out of the building and the words almost choked me as I tried to control
my emotions and tell them what I was about to do.
We arrived at the vet's a little early, so we had to sit in the waiting
room for a while talking with the receptionist. Stan (he took care of Sly
as a puppy) was almost as emotional as I as he took a close look at Sly.
He said my decision was the right one and at the right time. Sly's coloring
indicated a liver disfunction that left unattended would cause toxic conditions
putting Sly through absolute misery. I lifted him onto the examining table
and laid him on his side just before Stan came back into the room.
I was holding his head in my hands and stroking and rubbing him from head
to tail and talking to him very softly as he put his head down for the
last time. He looked as if he had just gone to sleep. My heart was broken
as I started to cry; I've been crying ever since.
I try to think of all the good times: in the park, when he would take off
after a deer or some other creature; when we would go to visit grandma
and he wanted to be first in the door; and on all the walks we took next
to the creek where he used to take an unscheduled bath and try to catch
the ducks.
We'll never forget you. And, I hope when I next see you, we can cross the
bridge together and spend the rest of eternity where you want to be --
in the park.
George and Bea Stephens
and Angus