Member-only story
A Dog’s Funeral
Where She Walked, God Followed
We had to put the dog down. Certain stories never end well, and tales about dogs are always in the upper half of the list. Their lives are short, intense, and full of love, and their departure is heartbreaking — always. She got a severe bloated stomach caused by previously unknown tumors around her spleen and kidneys, and that was that. Eight years of never leaving my side came to a halt in a few heartfelt hours.
It had been an ordinary morning. Coffee in the park, cheerfully playing with her favorite weekend friends while running around in circular arguments on who owns the smelly ball. No clues were given. No signs. Nothing. Back home, she had her first meal of the day while I had more coffee. She fell deep into her mid-day nap, and I went to work, leaving her alone for a few hours. It was a perfectly normal Sunday, one she’d experienced countless times before.
Kajsa was sitting straight in her bed when I opened the door. I kept my shoes and jacket on and gently touched her swollen chest while she gave out a quiet moan. Then everything happened very quickly. Leash, car keys, wallet, and plastic bags in case of any unforeseen accidents on the way out. I called my wife from the car, got priority at the clinic, then waited for the veterinarian’s verdict while Kajsa slowly recovered from her temporary drowsiness.
“Gastric dilation volvulus” is what they call it. It’s when the stomach rotates out of place, and gas mixed with natural acids turns it into a rapidly growing balloon. It’s fatal if you don’t reach the hospital in time. The weight of the tumors had caused the drop, and to fix it, things had to go before the stomach could be sewn back into place. No spleen, no kidneys, and poor digestion would leave her on daily medication and dialysis every two weeks.
That’s no life for a dog.
I’m a country boy, born and raised next door to cattle, pigs, and chickens. I’ve seen bulls turned to oxen with a tight rope and a razor and cats castrated heads down in rubber boots with the use of harvester blades. I’ve seen horses die, chickens beheaded, and heard pigs let out their final cry for help.
I cried every time but never once thought it was wrong.
