The final car ride

We did it. It was the most heart-renching decision but in the end, all things considered, it was for the best. My bro wasn't responding well to the medication and had to be hospitalised today. We couldn't afford something like this happening to someone else.

We tried to make his last few hours as happy as possible. For the first time in 2 weeks, he was once again the beloved pampered family dog he had always been. We let him roam around the house without telling him to go out, fussed him, gave him an extra egg in his breakfast ... my mom even added his antibiotics and rash meds into his food, as if it were just another day.

But it wasn't.

I kept looking at the clock as the minutes went by. I ran through all the reasons why this was the only way out. But looking at his eager, trusting face, I couldn't help but feel that I was betraying a friend.

When the time came, I took his leash and told him we were going for a walk. For the first time ever, he refused to let me put his muzzle on. No growling, no biting, just a sad face turning aside at every attempt. After a few tries, we let him jump into the car without it.

Chass had always loved car rides and today was no exception. He whined and panted as he went from window to window, watching cars pass by.

The vet was thankfully empty. Chass was the first patient of the afternoon. I thought I was holding it together pretty well, until the nurse asked why we brought him in. I said we were putting him down and that was all I could manage.

We entered the vet's office. My mom and hubby proceeded to tell him our concerns and reasons. All this while, Chass was whining and walking about, occasionally pushing his head into my hand for a pat.

The vet was very kind. He listened patiently to everything we had to say and said that the only thing that could help him was training, but even then, he had seen dogs get better with training and then suddenly snap. He asked us if we wanted to think it through or if we were sure. Everyone was silent.

Eventually, I said we had exhausted all possible options. Even if we kept him, no one dares to pet him, bathe him or put his meds on him. Even something as simple as tying him up had become a challenge.

He let us go out to spend our last moments with Chassard. My one consolation is that I don't think Chass had any inkling of what was to come. He went from person to person, resting his head on our laps or pawing our hands for attention.

I rubbed his head and body so hard the ground was littered with his fur. Then I took out his favourite snacks. One by one, I gave them to him until they were all gone. He gobbled them all up and then came back asking for more.

When we were ready, we put a special leash on him for them to lead him behind. He didn't want to go but with some coaxing he trotted quite happily towards the door.

Once the door closed, the tears began to flowed hard. I didn't mean it to. It just happened. Hubby signed the necessary documents and we waited.

I heard a couple of yelps and then there was silence. In 15 minutes, the vet came out to say we could go in to see him.

He looked like he was sleeping. I rubbed his paw and his silly head one last time.

When we reached home, I instinctively looked to the living room window, expecting to see his happy, hairy face looking at me, welcoming me home. But he wasn't there. Gone too was the familiar banging on the door which indicated an excited dog on the other side.

The house just seemed so, so void. Even now it feels like a bad dream, and that I'll wake up tomorrow to have him sidle up to me at breakfast and lean his hairy frame against my leg as he settles down to sleep.

I miss him, I really do. I've missed him since Wednesday when I knew we had no other choice. I've been saying goodbye since then. But the truth is no matter how many times you say it, nothing quite prepares you for the final farewell and the inevitable void.

I'm sorry too. I sorry I couldn't save him. I'm sorry I couldn't make him a better dog. I can't help but feel like I've failed him somehow. He had already lived 7 years and had another 3 to 4 more good ones. And I couldn't give him that.

I just wish so hard that it didn't have to be this way...