Casey

We put Casey to sleep this afternoon. He was thirteen years old and he was the best dog who ever lived. I know, everybody says that about their dog, but with Casey it was really true. He changed my life and opened my heart in ways I never would have believed the day we found him.

I'll never forget that morning, twelve years ago now. It was my birthday, the morning after Memorial Day weekend. Joyce was moving out that week and taking her two dogs with her. Jane knocked on my door earlier than she wanted to and told me there was an injured dog lying in the grass by the subway entrance. Still without caffeine I put my sandals on and followed her up the street.

When I first looked at him I thought he was already dead. Dirty, bony, hardly breathing, lying in the grass with utter hopelessness in his eyes. He'd been dragged by a car and his right rear leg was black and skinless. I slipped a muzzle on him and told Jane to hold the leash I'd put around his neck when I picked him up. I was sure he was hurt badly and I thought he might snap at my arms when I lifted him.

We got him into a station wagon and I sat in the rear deck with him. Jane reached over the seat and handed me the leash and said, "Happy Birthday Jim!" I grunted something like, "Yeah, right." Little did I know....He was in the hospital for a week and needed six weeks of follow up care and rehab during which he lived with me. Then Jane said to me we could start looking for a home for him and I told her he'd already found his home, with me. She laughed and said, "I've known that all along, Jim. I was waiting for you to realize it."

And now it's twelve years later, and Casey was beginning to slip. I could tell he had aches and pains and they were getting worse, so I took him to the doctor. We tried different treatments but nothing was working. Then a test revealed he had incipient bladder cancer. It was only a matter of time then. I promised him that I wouldn't let him suffer, that I'd set him free before it got bad. For a couple of months he was doing alright, slowing down but comfortable and happy. Then a week ago he began to slip more quickly. Several times I had to help him up the front steps because his legs were giving out. He was getting sick to his stomach and losing control of his bladder. Finally on thursday night I sat by his bed talking to him and he gave me that pleading look, the one that says,"Please daddy, can I rest now? I'm so tired and everything hurts and it's getting worse. Please?" I called his doctor the next morning.

When I described his condition Dr. Neuman agreed there was only one kind thing to do, and we made an appointment for this afternoon. So I took him out for his morning walk and let him go as far as he wanted and let him decide when to turn back for home. I made him his favorite breakfast, kibble with a little beef and liver cat food and some maro-bone treats. He ate most of it and lay down on his bed, looking far away. I sat on the sofa next to his bed, petting him between his ears. "I understand, puppy" I whispered to him. "We're going to take care of it all for you today. And I promise that after today you'll never hurt again. No more pain. Not ever."

Jane came down about 12:30 and we left to walk him to the doctor's office. The day was grey and cool, breezy and the clouds were moving fast overhead. Casey wanted to stop and sniff almost everything we passed and I let him take all the time he wanted. I knew it was our last walk together and I didn't want it to end. I think maybe he knew it too.

At the office he perked up when he saw Dr. Neuman, he's liked her since the day he met her. She made us tea and Jane fed Casey treats while the doctor got everything ready. Then she brought a mattress into the room and covered it with a soft towel. She gave him the shot of liquid valium and Jane and I helped him to settle on the mattress while it relaxed him. Then we sat on the floor on either side of him and petted him and talked to him while he fell asleep. When his breathing was slow and deep the doctor gave him the shot of morphine that would stop his heart and lungs and finally let him rest.

We sat with him for about half an hour, still stroking his fur even though he wasn't there to feel it anymore. I'm pretty sure I actually saw his soul leave his body and give me that coyote grin of his before he turned and left the room. Finally we stood up and reached down, touched him one last time. His fur was always so soft. Jane told him he was a sweet dog and I whispered, "See you later, Case." And we took the long slow walk back up the hill.

And now it's night time, and his dishes are still on the kitchen floor. Water and kibble that he'll never need again. I'll pick them up when I clean up the kitchen later. His collar is sitting on the table, the same one Jane picked out for him on the way home from the hospital twelve years ago. It was the symbol that he'd found his forever home.

Casey was thirteen. He was good and brave, and he was the best dog who ever lived.

100

The lights are down so low the room might as well be lit by a fireplace, and I can smell the melting snow through the open window. There's no wind on this saturday night, nothing to make the stars move faster.

And you've raised your long black skirt up to your knee, to pull your spike heel boots off, you drop them on the floor with the sound of a car door closing in the desert, keeping us safe from the sand and the falling stars. I love watching you roll your black stocking past your knee, love seeing you cross your bare legs on the bed spread.

And your hair still glitters with the night dew, and you untie the black ribbon from your throat. And the fog is rolling in the window, and your eyes are so wide in the dark.

And now you're sleeping, my flannel shirt reaching almost to your knees. And that secret smile is still on your lips, I wonder what you're dreaming. In a minute I'll turn this machine off and lie down with you, but first I had to write this. According to the counter, this is my 100th blog entry, and I wanted it to be about something really special.