Wednesday, March 6, 2013
I'm a Bad Dad
OK, so it's confession time. We had a 15 year old poodle named Avery that was drawing near to the end of a good life here on earth. He had lost his sight, had congestive heart failure, coughed a lot, and sometimes couldn't stand on his hind legs, especially if startled from his slumber, which was the extent of his daily routine.... eat, sleep, go outside to do his business. We had all decided it was about time to do the deed. Avery hadn't been to the vet in a couple years because there wasn't much they could do for him without spending our grocery money every month on medication...sorry, just wasn't gonna happen. So when I decided to schedule the appointment, I found that several clinics in the area required an exam BEFORE euthanasia...just to be sure, right? Well, I was already sure. No need to spend more money to be told he's in bad shape. So I ended up finding a clinic on the other side of town that didn't ask questions. It all worked out. I woke up Monday morning intent on helping Avery pass from this life to doggy heaven, wherever that may be. But I forgot one thing. And here's where the indictment comes... I also have a 13 year old son who spend the first 11 years or so of his life caring for and loving on Avery. They were buds. Bunk mates for a while. And although he knew this fate was inevitable, it didn't dawn on me to give my son a chance to officially say goodbye. He had already left for school and my schedule for the day included the long drive north with Avery. It seemed only logical to take care of it while it was convenient. As I sat in the room with Avery, the itty-bitty tinge of emotion sprang only from the thought that I had neglected to provide my son with this much needed "moment". Epic fail. No one else really cared. No one else would probably notice much. Only one guy still really had any sense of connection with this decrepit flea bag (and I mean that in the nicest way). What had I done? On my way back home (sans Avery), I pondered how my son would feel. Later that night, his only response to my question, "are you mad at me?" was a teenage grunt and small head nod. I am sorry Son. My bad!