In the following few days, Eva stopped walking around again and stayed still on the floor. She kept puking up stomach bile and Mom slept downstairs with her every night since Eva couldn’t walk up the stairs anymore. Even though it seemed like it was over, everyone still held a bit of hope within them, a shining ember that hadn’t gone out just yet. Our other dog, Kai, seemed to know before we did. Though the two had always played together and been the best of friends, Kai avoided Eva in these last few days. He took the longer route to go around her and would only look at her out of the side of his eye. He seemed cautious... like he knew she was sick.

I walked up the stairs one night, ready to go to bed when I overheard voices coming from my parent’s room. My curiosity got the best of me, and I crept closer to the door to hear what they were saying, the wood floor creaking slightly. They were talking about Eva. I heard Mom’s voice, defeated. She was talking about Eva and putting her down. My throat squeezed tight, holding back a sob as I quietly crept back to my room. I slowly closed my door and walked towards the center of the floor before collapsing to my knees, unable to hold back the tears any longer. I began to cry, salty tears dripping down my face, staining my cheeks. My tuxedo cat, Martin, walked over to me, a soft trill emitting from him as he rubbed his face against my knees. Despite everything, a smile cracked on my face as I pressed my hand on his soft fur.

Two days later, and it was time. The house was cold and quiet, deprived of sunshine or birdsong. Eva lay on the cold, hard, floor, her deep brown eyes looking at us every time we walked by. She seemed to know it was time herself, and she didn’t bother to wag her tail anymore. Mom sat by herself in the living room, staring off into the distance. Eva was her dog, my mom had rescued her from the kennel when Eva was only nine months all, and now she was thirteen. Mom had fed her, walked her, and trained her everything she knew. She loved Eva like a child, perhaps even more than Colin and I, and was now forced to put her down. My mom looked at me, a small smile on her face and her eyes tired. “Are you going to come with Colin and I?” She asked, still smiling. Though she hadn’t specified, I knew exactly where she was talking about. I nodded, glancing up at Mom before quickly looking down to the fur-covered floor.

‘We’ve been together nearly our entire lives, it’s only right that I’m with her in her last moments,’ I had thought to myself grimly, sparking tears in my eyes.

Colin held Eva in his arms, carrying her into the back of Mom’s Jeep Wrangler and closed the trunk. I rode in Colin’s car to the vet’s, listening to the beats of each rap song that played so loudly in his car, trying to focus on anything but the inevitable. It was a short car ride to the vet in York, fifteen minutes maybe, and I wish it could have stretched on forever. Colin’s white car pulled into the gravel-filled parking lot of the York Animal Hospital, parking on the side of the small lot. I took a deep breath and got out of the car, walking over to Mom’s car which had been parked by the entrance so we could get Eva inside. Mom stepped out of the car and opened the trunk so we could ‘relax’ with Eva as she went inside to get the paperwork signed. Even if she could have moved, she wouldn’t have left that open trunk. That was one of the nicest things about our lovely German Shepherd; she had never run away, never wanted to leave us. You could walk her without a leash and she’d stay by your side no matter what. Maybe that’s why it hurt so much. It was the first time she’d ever leave our sides, and it felt like we too were leaving her. I sat on the edge of the trunk as Eva was taking up most of the room back there and gently placed my hand on her hip. She didn’t move, didn’t raise her head to look at me or even wag her tail. Just stared into the distance with her deep, cataract-filled, chocolate-brown eyes. She seemed lost, vacant as if her soul had already left us. I continued to pet her anyways, not caring if she showed any affection or gratitude back. I just wanted her to know that I still loved her, even if I was allowing her death to happen. Colin stood at the other side of the trunk, not saying anything. He hardly said anything the whole time, besides the odd joke. How strange, the various coping mechanisms are. While one person copes through mourning or distracting themselves, another tries to make light of the situation, to make jokes about it, even if they aren’t funny. I hated the jokes Colin would make occasionally. They sounded bitter to my ears and filled my heart with whispers of rage. I never said anything about it though, I knew he was sad, that this was the only thing he could think of to do. I didn’t think of any of this as I pet Eva though, in fact, my mind was empty, devoid of any cognitive thoughts. It was only Eva. It was only the quiet patter of rain I had felt within me for the past four days.

The door to the hospital opened again, Mom coming out of the building, wiping her eyes slightly. The gravel crunched beneath her sandals as she made her way towards us, her eyes red.

“They’re ready to take Eva,” she said with a wavering voice, “Let’s get her inside.”

Colin nodded and scooped Eva into his arms, making an exaggerated grunt as he picked her up and placed her down on the hard ground, her worn, red, leash flopping down beside her. Mom bent down and lightly held the unnecessary and soft leash in her hand, leading Eva into the small, one-story building. Inside, other pet owners sat with their various animals, waiting for a normal check-up. How I loathed them in those moments, and how I loathe them now for being so lucky, though I would never wish upon anyone what I felt on that day.  One of the veterinarians opened a door into a room, a room that I had never seen used before. When I entered the tiny space, I was greeted by cold air and the smell of surface cleaners. On the left side of the room when one entered was a small wicker chair and countertop with various tools and a sink on it. On the right side, there was another wicker chair, but nothing else. The centerpiece of a room was a small but very soft blanket made from hot pink and purple fabrics. A piece of my mind wondered how many other dogs had died on that very same blanket, how many other poor souls had been in that room. Eva laid down on the blanket and my mother removed her leash, placing it within her bag as the nurse told us to wait for the doctor and left the room. No one truly spoke, the only words being Mom’s soft mumbling to Eva as she pet her. I sat on the wicker chair, silent, using all of my power to keep within me the sobs that had been clawing at my throat all day. I only stared at Eva, trying to memorize her appearance in my mind. The tear marks around her eyes from her cat allergy, the way the fur on her hips curled from her wrinkles, and the pink that appeared on her nose one year and never left. As I carved these qualities of Eva into my mind and my heart the doctor came quietly into the room, his eyes downcast and his smile absent. He spoke to us in a soft tone, gentle and caring. He told us how he knew it was difficult to lose a member of the family, and how we were doing the right thing for her. I believed him when he said this. I knew what we were doing for Eva was the right thing, even if it was one of the most difficult moments I’d ever have to face. He left us again to be alone with her before coming back into the room, no sound coming from the hall despite the open door. It was if the whole building was having a moment of silence.  

The doctor had brought in what he needed and placed them on the counter. I eyed the syringe as one would eye a rat, knowing that would be the weapon used to end my dog’s life. The doctor injected Eva with a pain-killing medicine, one that would keep her feeling the best she had in months for her final moments, before leaving us yet again. It was his absences that felt the most freeing and yet also the most painful. It left us in silence again, alone with each other. Mom looked at me, a tear streaming down her face and her throat tight, smiling.

“Don’t you want to pet her?” She asked me, her smile false and pathetic.

Did I want to pet her? It was such a simple question that one might think the answer is obvious, but I wasn’t sure. This animal that lay on the ground in front of me didn’t feel like my dog, didn’t feel like Eva. It felt like an imposter, the way it lay still without reaction. I wasn’t sure if I did want to pet her, but I did, knowing if I didn’t while I still could that I would regret it. I got up from the creaky wooden chair and kneeled on the ground beside her, the stiff hands that had been sitting firmly on my thighs in the chair now reaching for the soft auburn and black fur in front of me. Silence. No thwack of a tail against the floor, no dog tags clinking together, just, silence. I hated that silence, for it made me hear what my mind had to say, and it was screaming, screaming that I didn’t want to let her go, screaming that I could not cry, screaming that I wanted to go home with my dog and be happy. The doctor came back inside the room after five long minutes.

“I think it’s time,” He told us, apathetic. My mother nodded solemnly, her face constricting as if to hold back a new wave of emotion. He put the euthanasia into the syringe and injected it using the same shaved part of fur that already existed from previous vet visits where we had attempted to cure her of cancer, or at least slow it. Obviously, it hadn’t worked. My vision blurred and the lights glistened as they reflected off of the teardrops in my eyes. Eva began to breathe deep shuddering breaths. My heart quickened, pounding in my ears. ‘Is she ok? Is she in pain?’ I asked myself inside until Mom gave me a reassuring look. Eva twitched a bit, the dry and cracked pads of her paws kicking out a bit until she stopped.

You can tell when they’re gone. The jaw hangs open and they’re body slowly settles. My breath hitched, tears and snot running down my face. The cold air of the room felt more present than before, blowing gently against me as I pet at the lifeless body of my lifetime friend. The doctor nodded grimly before leaving the room for us to mourn. We were all silent. No one breathed nor dared to cry. Each one of us held back, wanting to be strong for the others. The air of the room felt suffocating. We walked outside and left her body behind, as she would be cremated for us to bury. It was the last time I ever saw her.

Our home felt strange, stuffy perhaps? The house was dim and the usual craziness that was the norm there was nonexistent. I sat down on the cold, hard floor, leaning against the wall, my mind once again empty. Tears stained my cheeks and more flowed down my face. Mom sat alone in the living room, trying to distract herself. As I sat there, keeping my throat tight so I could not sob, our mutt, Kai, trotted up to me, a ball in his mouth. At the sight of my weak smile and sad face, he dropped his rubber, bright-orange and blue ball into my lap, before walking away. I cried.