For Those We Love

by Lisa Sorbe

  “I don’t know.” Ben doesn’t take his eyes from the road. We’re going faster than we should be in this weather, and I know the last thing he wants to do is cause an accident that would prevent us from getting to Doris’s at all. Sometimes late is better. But sometimes, late is too late, and this thought worries me.

  Another crack of thunder sounds, this one so loud I swear it shakes the truck. I think of Asha back at the clinic and how she isn’t a fan of thunderstorms, and my heart breaks for her, too. What started out as a wonderful night is quickly turning into a nightmare. The moment has an otherworldly quality about it, as most unexpected tragedies do, I suppose. As we make our way through the streets of Lost Bay, what was once familiar now seems alien. Trees I know to be groomed are suddenly gnarled and hulking, their boughs reaching through the storm with ominous intent. And over there, what used to be a charming house that I admired every time I drove past now leers crookedly from the end of its long driveway, the cracked pavement a tongue snaking out to snare unsuspecting drivers.

  I’m overacting. I’m over emotional and still fighting off the grogginess that comes from rising too abruptly from a deep sleep. But with the way the lightening is marbling the sky and checkering our vision, I wouldn’t be surprised to discover that Ben and I somehow woke up in another world, an alternate reality, where everything that was once benign and harmonious is now a corrupt cacophony of malevolence.

  The storm is loud, a white noise that fills my ears, clouds my mind to the point I can’t think straight. And when we pull into Doris’s driveway and jump out into the deluge, a sudden rush of wind almost knocks me off my feet.

  Ben tugs a stretcher from the backseat and then he’s off, with me close at his heels. I can barely see the house through the rain, but Ben seems to know where to go, steering us down a path that leads to a small metal gate. He pushes it open, leading the way into the backyard. For a moment, the fire engine red of his windbreaker is the only thing visible. Then I notice a weak stream of light emitting from the back deck, though the rain washes away the glow before it can get very far. Already my clothes are drenched, clinging to me like another layer of skin. I don’t even want to imagine how wet poor Rodolfo is, his time spent in this downpour damn near tripling mine.

  Another crack of thunder. Another flash of lightening. My shoes squishing as they slog through the sodden yard.

  And there, stranded in the middle, in the very same spot in which, hours earlier, he sat soaking in the sun, is Rodolfo.

  Doris is bent over him, her slight form his only protection against the raging tempest. She’s holding a raincoat over his back and head, and when we get close enough to see her face, the tears streaming down her cheeks are evident despite the rain.

  If I’m soaked to the bone, Rodolfo and Doris are worse. The grass around them is so waterlogged it’s turning into a puddle, and I can’t help but think of their spot in the open yard as prime lightening bait.

  Ben moves quickly, and I do my best to match his movements based on his actions alone. Words are swallowed up by the wind and drowned by the rain, and nothing out of our mouths can be heard over the wrath streaming down from the heavens.

  As gently as we can, we slide Rodolfo from the grass to the stretcher. His fur is sopping wet and he’s trembling, though whether it’s from the cold or fear of the storm, I can’t tell. I can only imagine it’s both, because if I’d been stuck outside in this weather for as long as he has, I’d be a nervous wreck.

  With a great heave-ho, we lift him, and Doris scurries ahead of us, up the stairs to the back deck and through the swinging screen door. More thunder cracks overhead, its echo following us inside. There’s no escape from the lightening, either; it presses against the windows of the tiny home, causing the overhead lamps to flicker. Doris mumbles something about candles and rushes off while Ben and I set Rodolfo and the stretcher down a safe distance from the fireplace. The sound of the crackling flames is music to my ears, lending some sense of normalcy to this otherwise chaotic scene.

  We’re all wet, leaving puddles on the hardwood floors and muddy foot prints on the rugs. But Doris doesn’t care, doesn’t even mention it, just bustles around the room lighting candles in case the power fails. Ben disappears down the hall and returns a few seconds later, a pile of mismatched towels in his arms. He tosses me one, and together we begin to rub down Rodolfo, drying his coat as best as we can.

  The poor guy is exhausted. It’s there in his eyes, the weariness, and he doesn’t even bother to lift his head as I brush the towel over his neck. But his eyes lift my way in silent appreciation, and when I move to swipe at his paws, his tongue flicks weakly at my hand.

  “Hey, sweet boy,” I say, rubbing my thumb against his brow. “Ben’s gonna fix you right up, okay? You’re good now, all right?”

  Ben pulls off his coat and unzips his med bag, pulling out a stethoscope and thermometer, noting Rodolfo’s vital signs. The poor dog doesn’t even want to move, much less fight the exam, so no restraint is really required on my behalf as Ben moves his hands over Rodolfo’s stomach and flank, working down his legs to his feet where he gives a light pinch between the toe pads.

  I have no idea what he’s doing, so I just continue to pet Rodolfo’s head, his paws, scratch behind his ears and murmur reassuring words that I trick myself into believing he can understand. Doris appears to my left, and together we share vigil by his side as Ben continues his work.

  “The wind broke my umbrella,” Doris says, and though her voice is steady, her hands tremble. She fists them tightly. “Tore it right up. Then, well, I didn’t know what to do. I took off my raincoat, but he still got wet. I tried but…” Her jaw quivers. “He still got wet.”

  I lay a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. He’s in now. We got him in.”

  “I know, I know.” Doris lets out a great breath, as if she’s been holding it in for hours and hours, and squeezes my hand. “I don’t know what I would have done without you and Ben. I mean, Dr. Sloane.”

  “You know you can call me Ben, Doris,” Ben says from the other end of the stretcher, shooting her a warm look.

  Doris just nods. And then, leaning into me, she whispers, “You’re good for him, Lenny. And I’m so happy you found him.”

  I don’t even have the words to respond. Ben and I haven’t kept our relationship a secret, though we’ve hardly flaunted it. Then again, Lost Bay is a small community with a large population of pets, and I suppose news of the hunky veterinarian’s current squeeze is prime gossip at the local supermarket.

  Doris returns her attention to Rodolfo, and I stroke his head while she and Ben discuss the medication he’s taking and the possibility of starting a series of injections. But as I peer down at him, his eyes shift up to meet mine, catch hold, and it’s such a heartbreakingly sad expression that I know with a twist in my gut none of that is going to work. I think Ben and Doris know this, too. It’s in their postures, their solemn tones.

  They know what I know, what it seems Rodolfo is trying, in his own telepathic way, to tell us.

  But it’s what we do for those we love. We try to save them, hold on to them, keep them around…even if the only thing they want is for us to let them go.

  “I don’t know,” Doris says. “He’s been getting worse for days. But he’s always been able to get back up. It takes him a few tries, of course. But…”

  As if to illustrate her point, Rodolfo begins to pant and pushes up hard on his front legs. His hind quarters stay still, however, the momentum from his upper half only serving to slide his back end farther down the stretcher. He collapses with a grunt, defeated, while we look on, equally as pained.

  “He might have to go to the bathroom,” Doris says, worrying her hands together and looking around the room helplessly. “I’m sure he didn’t go peeps at all while he was laying outside. He hates to soil himself, you see.” She throws me a tearful look, and I look at Ben, who immediately pops out to his truck and comes back with a sling. After sliding it
under Rodolfo’s stomach, we get him on his feet and back outside, down the deck stairs, and to the grass, where he relieves himself with a soft grumble. By the time we’re back inside and in front of the fireplace, we’re all drenched again, and Rodolfo half collapses, the short trek having spent what little energy he had left. Ben administers an injection to ease his discomfort and then, after making sure he and Doris are both as comfortable as they can be under the circumstances, we leave with a promise to return in the morning.

  I’m exhausted by the time we pick up Asha at the clinic and return home, and Ben is grim.

  We’re quiet as we undress and collapse into bed.

  We’re quiet as we switch off the bedside lamps and entwine beneath the covers.

  But as much as the rush of the night has exhausted my body, it’s like a shot of caffeine to my mind. Despite the relaxed way my form is molded warmly to Ben’s, I find I can’t sleep. His chest is pressed up against my back and his arm is slung over my waist and I’m warm, so warm, finally warm after being wet for so long.

  But my thoughts are cold, ping-ponging across the landscape of my mind like my brain has turned to ice and every image is skating, slipping, sliding too fast to stop. And when I can’t take it anymore, when the rushing becomes too much, I call out to Ben, his name a whisper on my lips.

  “Hmm?”

  The quickness of his response tells me he can’t sleep, either.

  “Rodolfo. It’s time to let him go, isn’t it?”

  “I think so.”

  And that’s it. That’s all that needs to be said.

  Ben presses his lips to the back of my head and together, we wait for sleep.

  Death. It’s not something I’ve ever been around before.

  With my father, I was too young to remember anything about the car accident that killed him. I don’t recall the ring of the doorbell or the way my mother had to be led to the couch on shaky legs by the officer who delivered the news. I didn’t feel the earth move beneath my feet the way she did, having learned that the love of her life, her soulmate, just expired on Old Highway 71 and that she would never ever, for as long as she lived, lay eyes on him again.

  Of course, I was around for Lenora’s passing. The aftermath, at least. I remember my mother’s phone call, the trip to Lost Bay and the untraditional wake that followed her death. But I’d been so far removed from her life that the whole thing seemed almost…surreal. I was reeling from so many things, the loss of life—my life—as I’d known it, and for a while it seemed as if I mourned that more than her.

  “How do you do this?” It’s the following evening, and I can’t help but give voice to my concerns as Ben drives us to Doris’s. “Over and over again?” My stomach is squirming and my heart is thumping and the tears I’ve been blinking back all day are now stuck in my throat, turning it into a gooey mess.

  “It’s not always easy. Hell, it’s never easy. But if I’m able to end the pain, the suffering, it makes it bearable.” He stares out the windshield, his jaw tight. “They give us so much, so damn much, throughout their lives, and I consider this a way to give back. Yes, it’s hard on us, but that’s not what matters. They’re what matter, and if I can give them peace, then I’ll shoulder the burden. A thousand times over, I’ll shoulder it.”

  Ben might be able to bear the weight, to be the hand that stills life in the name of compassion, but I don’t think I could.

  As if reading my thoughts, he turns to me, offering a solemn smile before facing the road again. “It’s a privilege to be with someone when they pass. To hold a space by their side as they make their transition. Death isn’t the end.”

  “How do you know that, though? How are you so certain that what we’re doing is the right thing?”

  “It’s more of a feeling than a knowing,” is all he says.

  Doris’s living room is pristine; there are no remnants of water marks or mud stains anywhere to be seen by the time Ben and I arrive to check up on Rodolfo. I say check up, but that’s not entirely accurate. Earlier that morning, Doris made the decision to let Rodolfo go. And though we’re here to do just that, there’s always a chance she could change her mind. I’ve only worked in the veterinary field for a short time, but already I’m familiar with the way clients schedule euthanasia appointments for their pets and then call five minutes beforehand to cancel. And Doris may do just that. It’s a hard decision, choosing to end a life, and while I’ve never been in the position of having to put a pet to sleep, my heart bleeds for the people who have.

  So we’re prepared, either way.

  But the end is inevitable. Always inevitable.

  None of us have a choice.

  Eventually, we have to let go.

  Rodolfo is right where we left him this afternoon, after checking up on him during a quick lunch break. We hauled him outside to go to the bathroom and hauled him back in, the exertion taking a toll on not only his energy, but his mood. He’s depressed; it’s obvious in the roll of his eyes, the limp barely-there wag of his tail. And even though I’ve only known him for a few short months during the latter years of his life, I’ve never seen him look so forlorn. The brave guy sailed through his splenectomy with flying colors. But, in the end, his struggle with hip dysplasia is coming to a head. The supplements and treatments are no longer working, and without the use of his back legs, Rodolfo is resigned to a life of laying in his dog bed all day, succumbing to his pain and entirely dependent on others to carry him in and out of the house.

  “He’s not eating,” Doris says. She’s sitting next to him, stroking his head, a tissue in her hand that every now and then she uses to dab at her eyes.

  Ben sits down next to them, cross-legged, and I hover somewhere in the back, because this hurts so much, way more than I expected it to, and I need to take a few deep breaths and think of something that’s stupid funny to halt the flow of tears prickling at the corners of my eyes.

  Nothing works.

  “He’s Murphy’s dog, you know. He found him through a golden retriever rescue down in The Cities. Rodolfo was just over a year when he came to live with us. The couple that had him before never had time for him, kept him in his kennel most of the day. Those first few weeks with us, he was so timid. But after that, after he realized he had Murph wrapped around his finger, he went through an ornery streak, let me tell you!” She swipes at a tear and laughs at the same time, no doubt remembering some incident of destruction that only a dog in its teen years could afflict. She bends down and nuzzles her forehead against his. “But we loved you anyway? Right? And none of that matters now, does it? I’d give up every pair of shoes in my closet for another year with you, love. Every single one.” She looks up at Ben and then, her eyes drifting over his shoulder to me, offers a watery smile. “Murph and I, we never had kids; our dogs have always been our babies.”

  Ben lays his hand on her shoulder. “You gave him a good life. He’s lucky to have you.” He runs a hand over Rodolfo’s head and down his neck. “Aren’t you, bud? Huh? Such a good guy.”

  Rodolfo leans his head into Ben’s hand, and oh my God I don’t think I’m going to make it through this. The urge to run away, to run right out of the house is so overwhelming my legs twitch. I don’t want to feel this, this pain, this unrelenting goddamn pain. My heart hurts, and it feels like I’m being broken, crushed from the inside out.

  The seconds stretch into minutes, and then the minutes into an hour. Doris shares funny stories about Rodolfo’s early years, and I find her words halt the flow of tears I’ve been blinking back. Finding strength in her memories, I kneel down next to the trio and offer my hand to Doris, which she squeezes gratefully. One glance at Ben and I can tell there’s no other place he’d rather be, although the task looming at the end of this conversation is hardly desirable. But he’s offering himself in the best way he knows how, by being a shoulder for Doris to lean on during this challenging time. Something tells me he’d sit here all night if needed. There’s no sense of urgency in his demeanor
, no side glances at his watch, ready to get the show on the road so he can get somewhere else. He’s in the now, in the present, as all true healers are…even when healing, at least in the traditional sense, is no longer possible.

  The telling of stories and the laughter and the enormity of what’s about to happen, what can’t be avoided, has lent a transcendent quality to the moment. As if the veil between worlds is thinning slowly, so slowly, but enough to sense a change in the atmosphere.

  And it’s not sad. Not anymore. I mean, of course we’re hardly happy. But there’s a peace in place, holding space around us, and I no longer feel as if I’m crumbling. Instead, it feels like the center of my chest is expanding, opening to let in something larger. Something more beautiful and far bigger than myself, than my simple earthly emotions.

  Maybe it’s Rodolfo, being strong for all of us. Speaking heart to heart, as is a dog’s way, and letting us know that this, his passing, is okay.

  Letting us know he’ll be fine so that we can be.

  These animals. Selfless as ever, right to the very end.

  When Doris is ready, when we’ve all hugged and stroked and nuzzled Rodolfo more than, I’m fairly certain, any animal has ever been cuddled before, Ben pulls supplies from his bag, explaining how he’s going to give Rodolfo a sedative first, something to put him to sleep so that, when the final injection is administered, he won’t feel a thing.

  I’ve never been present in the in the room and alongside the patient during a euthanasia, and I have no idea what to expect. But any worry about a traumatic death is quelled when Rodolfo passes peacefully, his sweet little spark extinguished by a final puff of breath softly fluttering his lips.

  Doris squeezes my hand, hard, and I let her, and Ben uses his stethoscope to check for a heartbeat. With a solemn nod, he lets us know that Rodolfo is really and truly…gone.

  “Do you believe in Heaven?”