She walked in the hospital and she knew she had to do it. Maverick was old. He had arthritis. 14 was old for a dog his size, they said. She ignored everything anyone did in attempt to make her feel better. Nothing would make it better.
She walked through the hallway of the empty veterinary practice. She opened the door to room, where her chocolate lab rest on the table. His chest was moving up and down. She pulled his collar out of her purse and just held in her hands. She thought of how he used to run up the stairs in the morning to wake her. She woke up every day for 14 years to the sound of his nametags jingling. That sound would be gone after tonight. She thought of how had shaped her life and saved it too. A tear rolled down her cheek. She squeezed his paw and walked out of the room. She walked down the long hallway to the reception desk. When she finally gained composure, she called for the vet.
He walked at a faster pace than she did. She walked behind him because she didn’t want to go through with what was next. The vet didn’t seem scared. He showed no emotions. She thought he was an insensitive jerk for not sympathizing. But then she thought he probably would be a mess if he cried for every dog or cat or rabbit he had to put down. She walked behind him, trying to hold back her tears from flooding the hallway. The entered room number two. The vet gave Mav a pat and asked her if she was ready.
“Yes.”
Another tear came.
She held onto her best friends’ paw and squeezed a small squeeze. Within moments the vet left the room and she was there alone with Mav, who looked like he was sleeping. She closed her eyes and tried to remember him as a young pup. She tried to smile. She did.
But the tears filled up her eyes and they crashed like the waves on the beach. He liked to run on the beach.
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