Letting Cormac go was the hardest thing I’ve done in a long time.

Let’s backtrack a bit. It was the week before July 4, and Cormac wasn’t eating. He would take a bite or two of DELICIOUS cat food, then lose interest, even with a full plate in front of him. He wasn’t eliminating very well, except for urine, which has always been a talent of his. He was sluggish and tired all the time, and walking was a slow, slow endeavor. My old man was getting pretty weak.

I took him to the vet three times over the next 10 days; at first he was diagnosed with giardia, pancreatitis, and leaking portion in his urine. They gave me a series of pills and liquid meds for him to take twice daily. That was when I learned that my sweet pup could lock his jaw like a demon, and giving him pills was the absolute worst…he’d literally spit out peanut butter if it had a pill inside. He was smart. He knew.

After the weekend of the 4th, and 5 days of fighting to get meds inside my baby, I took him back to the vet. He still wouldn’t eat, and spent most of the day sleeping on the couch or the bed. His tummy was tender although, bless his heart, still peeing like a champion. This time, the doctor used the ultrasound on his abdomen, and found a significant mass that was either his liver or spleen. They said that surgery was an option, but if he continued to not eat, it would be pretty damn hard to recover or even survive the procedure. With all his problems and the way he was acting, they recommended euthanasia. I scheduled him for the appointment the next day at 11am…I wasn’t about to let my baby spend the next week feeling terrible when we knew what was coming. They told me he didn’t need the pills anymore, gave him a dose of subcutaneous fluids to keep him comfortable for the day, and I took him home. I called off work for the next two days, and I spend the next 24 hours with my angel.

On the way home, we went to visit Mom and her puppy to say goodbye. Mom got Corms to eat a handful of rotisserie chicken scraps, which turned out to be his last meal. On the way to my apartment, I bought him a McDonalds double cheeseburger, no fixins, to eat if he would. He wouldn’t touch it. (Dante ended up taking a few bites, tho, little devil). We spend the day in bed, cuddling and crying and saying sweet things. That night, he slept in my arms.

In the morning, we woke up and Corms stayed in bed while I made coffee with R, who had spent the night and offered to take us to Cormac’s appointment. I opened the door to the balcony so Corms could hear us talking about the puppy of my heart, my fuzzy angel, my child. Arough 10:30, we got dressed and headed to the vet. R had to carry Corms, he was too weak to walk. I sat in the backseat and held his head while R drove to the vet. We parked and waited outside while they prepped the room. They gave me a paper with options for the private cremation, and I chose the wood for the box of his ashes, the inscription, and the color of the velvet bag that would hold it all. They took my payment and told me it was time to come inside.

Cormac already had an IV in his leg, and he was standing, which I knew was only because it was weird and scary to be at the vet yet again. I told him I loved him and coaxed him to lay down with me on the floor. The doctor came in and explained what would happen. He had the syringe with him. The nurse stood by, respectfully. The doctor warned me that some dogs twitch and vocalize, but it didn’t hurt. I told him I was ready.

It happened quick, and silently, save for my sobbing and telling Corms he was a good boy, a very good baby. After a moment, the doctor checked his heart with a stethoscope, and announced he was gone. He told he sometimes they don’t close their eyes. He told me I could stay as long as I needed. I asked for Cormac’s collar, and I gave him one last ear scratch. The doctor asked if I wanted to be alone. “No,” I said, sobbing, “He’s not here anymore.” I left the office and R was waiting at the car. We hugged, I cried.

You can see why I haven’t written about this yet. It was painful to watch him go downhill so quickly, but a blessing as well, since the end was not drawn out for months and thousands of dollars. I’m lucky to have parents willing and able to help me, financially, with the end of the vet bills. I’m lucky to have friends who support me and know how much I love my dog.

I’m lucky to have shared with Cormac his entire life, from 3 months to 14.5 years, and I’m so thankful for every moment, even at the end. They didn’t have to let me in the office, they didn’t have to allow me that moment to honor and witness the end of his life. May you all be so comforted by the kindness of others in the dark times.

That’s all I can handle today, loyal readers. Just writing this gives me relief, but it’s hard, even though I have more to tell. So next time I’ll fill you in on the newest development in the life and times of Jady….

May I introduce Oscar Wilde: