My Last Night

I am spending the last day of my life in a cage, witha needle in my forepaw. The hope is that the fluidswill help to bring down the elevated numbers in mykidneys, or some such thing. That's what I heard, at least.The veterinarian's recommendation did offer some hopeto my two best friends, given the fact that I am below thelife expectancy for my breed. I am only ten years old. Iguess that's considered young. But like humans, we allage differently and die when we are supposed to.

This is not quite where or how I had imagined Iwould spend my last night of breathing. But, oh well,what are you going to do? Naturally, I would muchrather be at home, spending my last hours surroundedby my stuffed toys and the people I love.

What dog wouldn't? Despite what my desires mightbe, however, in the long run it's better this way. I cannotbear the thought of my friends finding me dead underthe desk, in the closet, or in some corner of the house.I know that would be too much for them, especially formy Alicia.

As I became increasingly aware that the end of mylife grew imminent, instinct and love had me isolatingmyself a little more each day. Distancing myself fromtheir everyday life was my way of easing those I heldmost dear to accept the inevitability that soon I wouldno longer be with them. But sadly, in the end, it will notmatter. They are still going to hurt. And that is too bad.

The poor golden retriever across from me hadsurgery today. He woke up a little while ago and iswhimpering in pain. Not too long ago, I would havestood up and wagged my tail in acknowledgment. Showhim a little support, you know? But I no longer have itin me. He will be fine, though. He is young and will bechasing after tennis balls in no time.

As for me, I could not chase my own tail even if Iwanted to. Despite my cute, little puppy face (well, that'swhat everyone says), I am old. My joints ache. My nosecan no longer distinguish between the scent of baconand a clump of dirt. My eyes see only shadows. And theworst indignity of all? Loss of control over bowel andbladder.

Am I afraid to die? No. Not at all. Unlike our humancounterparts, animals are not conditioned to fear death.We are born to serve a purpose and then leave. And mypurpose has been to be a faithful and loyal companion.I have to say, I have had a good life. The love my twofriends feel for me is very much reciprocated. In fact,I might have been a little spoiled, if truth be told. Butnot to the point where I was a ball buster and madetheir lives miserable. I may have been a bit finicky whenit came to my food, and I might have refused to eatuntil a bribe in the form of table scraps was tossed intomy bowl. Oh, and then there was my tendency to takewhoever was walking me hither and yon in my questto find the perfect place to do my business. Other thanthat, I have been a peach.

We were close, the three of us. So close, in fact, thatI can feel their anguish over my failing health. Not tomention their conflicting emotions over whether or notto put me down if they get a bad report—which theywill. I will not die during the night. That would be toodevastating for them. I will give them the opportunityto say good-bye. But when they come to see me in themorning, I will definitely make it easier for them to letme go.

In the meantime, I am going to share what life waslike for me and all that I have learned and observed.

Hello!

Dog owners, more often than not, like toattribute human emotions and characteristicsto their pets. While we are by no means just a dumbdog, we are not human either. For example, people willoften mistake a dog's territorial behavior for jealousy.There was a little dog named Sombrero I once knewwho would always growl whenever anyone came tooclose to his master. The woman, who lived alone, wouldoften say to people who commented on it, "Oh, don'tpay attention to Sombrero. He doesn't mean anythingby it." Turning to Sombrero, she would say, "You'rejust jealous, aren't you, sweetie? You want Mummy allto yourself, don't you?" Well, no, not really. The poorwoman was lonely and projected her need for loveonto her dog. Since boundaries were never set withSombrero, he saw his owner as belonging to him, likea toy or a bone.

But are we intelligent? Most definitely. Naturally, ourthought process is limited. We do not possess the kindof intelligence where we can interpret the meaning of anabstract painting by staring at it. Nor can we verbalizethat we are tired of being fed the same kibble day in andday out. I learned to get around that little impedimentby turning away from the food that was placed beforeme. Inevitably, some tasty tidbit would always be added.

We are not driven by ego, so we do not know howto be, say, self-serving or disingenuous. We are steadfastin our loyalty, love unconditionally, do not judge or holdgrudges, and can always be counted on to be there foryou. And our intuition allows us to read humans betterthan you can read each other. No offense intended.According to my Alicia, dogs possess the right qualitiesthat more people should try to emulate.

As for social grace, we have not perfected the fineart of etiquette and decorum while in the presenceof polite society. We will hump a leg or lick ourselveswhen the urge hits. We live in the moment, so life forus is carefree. There are no regrets over what happenedyesterday or anxiety about tomorrow to bog us down.

But enough of that. With time being limited, I needto get on with my story. I am sure that by now you mustbe a bit curious as to what breed I am. I am shih tzu.For a male, I am smaller in stature and have a petiteface. I was often mistaken for female. My hair was keptshort because Alicia did not want a dog that looked likea walking mop.

I was born in what you refer to as a puppy mill. Asnewborns, my siblings and I never had the opportunityto blindly jockey for position at the trough of myexhausted mother's teats. Unfortunately, my motherdied shortly after giving birth to us. The poor thing hadbeen subjected to repeated breeding that resulted inher giving birth to litter after litter in rapid succession.After we were born, her body had given out on her.Lucky for us, there were plenty of lactating females forus to nurse from.

While my time there was short, relatively speaking,the one distinct memory I have is of the incessantbarking, crying, whimpering, and howling. There were nocomforting murmurs or affectionate pats on the head tosoothe us. As I am relating this to you, I am suddenly struckby the irony. We are bred for the purpose of becomingvalued members of a loving human family, but while weare there, we are shown no tenderness whatsoever.

We are simply chattel and a means to an end. WhenI was finally taken from my siblings and transportedto an unknown destination, I found the silence andsolitude unsettling. As a result, I gnawed at the littleholes of my crate for comfort.

* * *

I am sure you already know where I ended up. Yes, ina mall pet shop with the high-priced, fancy accessoriesthat we really do not understand or care about. BeforeI continue, I want to express how grateful I am thatAlicia never got into the trend of wanting to dress mein gold lamé tuxedos or a bathrobe and slippers. Couldyou imagine?

There was a Maltese, named Freddie, who livedup the street from us a few years ago. What did thatpoor slob...