A Sirloin Steak and Pound of Strawberries

Today, Joe Poop has been watching me make the preparations for his impending death with a composed almost stoic expression. He loves me as much as I love him. He had a good life. He wants to die. These are the things I tell myself as my favorite memories of Joe flick through my mind as quickly as scenes in an action movie: Joe running on the beach at St. George Island, swimming in the Sulphur Fork Creek, digging sweet potatoes straight out of the garden, or winning the best kissing contest at a dog festival in Centennial Park.

By the time most of you read this, our thirteen-year-old shaggy mutt will be gone. I warned you if I wrote about euthanizing Joe Poop, then you all would have to put up with my tears. And right now, they are pouring out of my eyes so fast that it’s hard to see the keypad, so I apologize in advance if this post rambles a bit. I’m writing through grief. And like euthanizing a dog, it’s a first for me.

Last weekend Mason and I were away at Thunder Valley in Bristol, TN, for the NHRA Drag Races. My best friend Nancy stayed at the Farnival to watch our pack plus our foster dogs. When we got back home, Nancy told us that it was time to let Joe go. About a year ago, she had promised me that she would tell me when it was time, and she did, and for her tough honesty I am forever thankful.

It’s not that we didn’t know. We just didn’t want to believe what was right before our eyes. Joe Poop can’t stand to defecate anymore, nor can he walk the five feet from his dog bed to the water bowl without his legs sliding out from under him. Even this morning, when Mason carried him to the yard, Joe face planted it in the dirt before he took one step. He has no more dignity.

Tomorrow morning at 7 AM, Dr. Dan Kinney, a country vet with a huge heart, is coming here to euthanize Joe. It’s important to us that he dies at the Farnival, his favorite place in the universe. When Dr. Dan leaves, we’ll let each member of our pack see and smell Joe’s body, so they know he’s gone, then we’ll wrap him in blankets, and drive to the Music City Mortuary, where they’ll cremate him in an hour for $100.00.

As far as Mace and I, we’re doing the best we can: We just got back from Kroger with sirloin steaks and three pounds of strawberries, and we’re about to cook Joe, the best kisser in Nashville, one hell of a last meal.