Spookie

      I've always believed that pets make your world much more comfortable and liveable. To be sure, pets require much attention and maintenance, but they give so much more than you put in. There is, however, one major, and I mean major, drawback; the day when you have to decide the last days of this creature, or creatures, that have given you so much love. I have had to make this decision a few times. The first time was the day that I officially became an adult.

      When I was still in high school, I was working two jobs on the weekends; at Gray's Photo Shop and The Alpine Pantry. One day, between jobs, I happened to stop by the Village Market in Idyllwild to get something to eat. As I walked to the entrance, there were two kids with a doctor's satchel. As I got near, the little girl asked me if I wanted a puppy. My parents were in Riverside, CA at the time, so I couldn't call them to ask, so I did the only thing I could do. I looked into the satchel, and I saw this black and brown mass cowering inside, looking so pathetic. For those of you who know me well, yes, that was enough. I called my friend, Janice Mikuls, and asked her to drive my new puppy to my house while I walked to work.

      As I was washing dishes at The Alpine Pantry, I got a call from my dad. He was not happy. There was this new being in his house, he was not asked permission, and he let me know about it. I did the usual teenager "I'll walk/feed/wash/take care of her" diatribe, but that did not calm him down. He really was not happy. When I got home, he still was not happy. But, he relented, and decided to let me keep her. But, we still did not have a name. Ironically, my dad ended up naming her. One day, my mom was vacuuming the house, and our new pet was very scared of the machine, to the point that when my mom turned the vacuum cleaner on, the dog would run as far from it as possible. My dad, seeing this, announced, "That Godd#@ned dog is acting spooky!!" I really didn't like the spelling, so I changed the "y" to "ie". Spookie was now a member of the family. And she turned out to be a great pet.

      A few years later, I left for college, and Spookie stayed behind. Mom and dad took care of her. I'd come home, and Spookie would be there. At this point, mom and dad had grown accustomed to her; I actually think they loved her, even dad. He comes off gruff, but he's a teddy bear inside. When I came home after being suspended from college and not finding gainful employment in Oregon, I got a small house for me and Spookie. Now, I was taking care of her. I was happy, because she was still a family pet, and I lived next to mom and dad. We stayed there for a while, then found another place to live, even smaller, but nice. We were there for about three years. Then, things started to get bad, for Spookie, then, ultimately, for me.

      Spookie started getting tumors on her legs and torso, and they were painful. She was steadily slowing down, sometimes even to a crawl. She was limping, struggling to get around. Her eyes were becoming glassy, she was struggling to see, too. We all tried to help, but soon, it would get worse.

      After a time, she seemed to improve. Getting stronger, walking better, but this did not last long. Soon, she could not walk outside to go to the bathroom. She would not eat. She barely moved. At times, I was so frantic, I would crouch down in front of her trying to feed her, or yelling at her to eat, or do anything. She was scared, but so was I, because I knew what all this meant and what I would have to do. I kept trying to put if off, but I soon realized that Spookie would not get better. So, I had to make a decision. One that I did not want to make, but she was mine, and it was up to me.

      I called the local vet, and asked some questions, not really sure why. I knew what I had to do. I just didn't want to do it. But, I soon realized that Spookie was in pain, terrible, crippling pain. I loved her too much to let her suffer further. I didn't have a car, so I called my brother Tony, who did. I told him what I needed to do. He was over to my house, ready to assist. We got Spookie, got in his car, and took the longest one mile drive ever.

       I got to the vet, and was met by the receptionist. I told her I called earlier, and she was very helpful. She got me, Tony and Spookie to a room. I put Spookie down on a cold, steel table. We stood there for a few minutes, when the vet came in. He told me what would happen, and how. It all seemed so surreal, so unreal. I felt like I was watching a movie, or really hoping I was. I didn't want to be here, I didn't want to do this. The doctor then went to get the "equipment", and began the process. Tony asked to leave the room; I don't blame him, I wanted to leave, too. But, I had to stay for Spookie. As much as I wanted to leave, I had to stay. So, the doctor gave Spookie the shots, and said it would be over soon. I asked if I could stay with her until the end, and he said yes, and even left just before it was over.

      I could see Spookie drifting away. It was almost over. But, before it was over, I took her head into my hands, gave her one last kiss on the forehead, and looked into her eyes. I watched as the last signs of life left her hurting, pained body. Maybe it was me looking for some signs of validation, but as I looked into her eyes for the last time, I think I saw a glimmer of gratitude, as if she was glad to be without pain. And then, she was gone. I was a mess. I was inconsolable. The receptionist, who I was familiar with, watched as I came out of the room, and just came up and held me. No warning, no asking, no telling; and I was so grateful. That was what I needed right then.

      Tony then helped me to the car, and drove me home. As I was getting out, he said, "Stay here, give me a few moment." He opened the trunk of his car, got my house key, and went in and took out Spookie's blanket, food, bowls, everything in the house that was hers. He put all of that into the trunk, gave me my house key, and said, "You can go in now, I'm done." I never asked him, but I thanked him. I didn't want to deal with that, and I am so glad he did.

      I went into my empty house. It felt empty. My friend was gone. And Tony took everything that would remind me of Spookie; except for the space where she slept. Next to my dresser, right by the heater. All her stuff was gone, but her space was still there. I went to her space, crumbled and cried. Eventually, I fell asleep. I woke up about an hour later, still uncontrollably saddened. Fortunately, I was off this day and the next day. I wouldn't have been able to work. After a bit, I was able to get up and get some things done, clean, eat, call my parents, let them know about Spookie. They all left me alone, because they knew that was what I needed.

      The next day, I had to do laundry. I didn't want to, but it needed to be done. I walked to the laundromat, and as I was folding my clothes after washing and drying, I saw my brother drive up. And out of the car came my sister April, crying. She ran to me and we held each other. I told her it was alright, it was best for Spookie, things like that. For some reason, I didn't believe it. To this day, sometimes, I still don't.

      I often think back on that day and wonder if I did the right thing. Many people have told me that I did, it was best for Spookie. I think sometimes, though, that I could have done more for her. I get so confused and angry about my decision. Whether I should have done something else, done more, the like. I still have this fight with myself. I still cry thinking about Spookie. I'm crying writing this. She was a great dog, who gave me unconditional love. I often wonder if I reciprocated, especially with my actions.

       I've asked people about this, and almost everyone I asked have told me they were in the same situation, and they felt the same way. Could I have done more, should I have waited, trying to assuage the pain this decision has caused. I finally came to a sort of reconciliation about it. Spookie was hurting greatly. She could not eat or walk, could not run and play, could not move without yelping in pain. And then, I remember the last time, that look in her eyes. I truly feel I saw gratitude. She was in too much pain, I feel I did the right thing.

      I guess I will always fight with myself about this. I can never seem to be resolved about this. I carry in my heart an image of Spookie, now free from the bonds of this pained life, able to run and play, lay in the sun and sleep. During this time, I was listening to Blues Traveler, a song called "Fledgling". The last line of the song went, "Now my fledgling, now you fly,....free." It resonated with me for I feel I did free Spookie, from her painful prison. I miss Spookie, I always will. She was my friend. And the day I set her free, May 27, 1992, was the day I had to grow up.....for her, and for me.