The Hardest Goodbye

Icy is lying under the pear tree, panting. It’s always been her favorite spot in the yard, but today is different. The traveling vet is talking to Richard on the porch. Her back is to me, and all I can see is his furrowed brow over the top of her sandy, blonde ponytail. She gently reaches out a hand and pats his forearm in comfort. She turns towards me, as I watch Richard wipe a tear from his cheek. Icy is panting and smiling, having just chased her favorite ball. It’s forgotten in the middle of the yard now. She only had a few chases left in her since she’s all bones and no muscle. I run her silky ears through my fingers like I always do to comfort her. She can sense that something is off. Despite her panting smile, her big brown eyes miss nothing. They scan the yard for Rich, assessing the emotions on his face. He brings over a big bowl of water. She drinks a bit but watches him anxiously. He smiles down at her, and another tear rolls down his cheek.

***

A month ago, all of the signs were there but we tried ignore them. Icy had lost a bit of muscle over the year, but her new rapid weight loss was shocking. One day we were writing it off as muscle loss due to old age, and a month later I could count every one of her ribs. I fed her everything I could think of: salmon, meatballs, rice, broth, sweet potatoes. She would get excited at first and eat voraciously, but eventually started turning her nose up at everything. As her weight continued to drop, her energy naturally dropped as well. Gone were the days of hours of soccer and walks and fetch. I started having to rouse her out of bed before I left for work every morning. She was still Icy- she chattered at us and nudged us for ear scratches and was still so intuitive and sweet, but her swift decline became too glaring to ignore.

I didn’t go to the vet with Richard. Icy had been his girl for thirteen years, and it seemed like something he needed to do on his own. I could picture the scene in my head though. Icy was probably half snuggled on him, laying on the front seat of his truck. He had his free arm around her. I know he pictured her on the day he first met her, a tiny red-nose russet colored pit bull, anxious and in need of a person to love her. He always said he begrudgingly took her, but she had won him over in a weekend.

When he got home, I knew what was wrong before he even said the words out loud.

“It’s cancer,” he said, barely making eye contact with me. “There’s a tumor on her liver, and one wrapped…”

His voice broke.

“…around her pancreas.”

I looked up at him, devastated. “How long?”

He looked at me with pain in his eyes. “Two weeks to a month. They said the sooner we’re able to do it, the better.”

The next two weeks flew by in a blur of tears and snuggles. I woke up every morning with her head tucked under my chin, her emaciated body curling into mine. I would bury my face into her fur and weep. She was intuitive enough to know what was happening, and I watched her soak in every last moment. She would still greet Richard at the door every evening when he got home from work, tail wagging happily. She picked at her food as if to give us some sense of normalcy. She curled up on anyone and everyone who came to say goodbye. I went to the grocery store to get salmon and sugar cookies for her last meal. I stood in the frozen aisle of Trader Joe’s holding the ice covered, vacuum sealed red fish and burst into tears.

“Regina?” I heard a soft voice say my name, and felt a small hand grasp my arm. I blinked through my tears to find my best friend’s mom standing before me. She didn’t say a word, and I bent down and hugged her. She rubbed my back in that comforting way that only moms know how to do.

***

Richard and I sit in the grass around Icy, while the vet unpacks her kit. She told me her name but I can’t remember it now. She explains the two-step process. She gives us some space to say our good byes. Richard leans down and whispers something into Icy’s ear. She leans her cheek into him, wanting a kiss. He kisses her cheek for several seconds, sniffling as he rises up. He’s cradling a bottle of whiskey like it’s a life raft. He takes a swig as I lean down and kiss her cheek too. She leans into me as well, as I cradle her head in my hands.

After the first shot, Icy’s eyes begin to droop. She fights to keep them open, searching for Richard. He gets up and turns his back to the scene. He takes another large slug of whiskey. He clearly needs temporary relief, but the minute he gets up Icy tries to stand up and go after him.

“Rich!” my voice is soft, but distressed and he turns immediately. Icy wobbles and sinks back into the grass.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he says softly, quickly sinking down in the grass beside her. Tears rolls down his cheeks in rivers. Icy finds my eyes and gives me a knowing look, looking back and forth between the two of us. I can’t cry. I sit there stoically as Rich starts weeping. Icy looks into my eyes and I nod. I lean down again and whisper in her ear:

"I'll take good care of him. I promise."

Her eyelids close and don’t open again. The vet administers the second shot, and in a matter of minutes, she’s gone.