“Emmett has a heart disease.”, I still remember where I was when my dad said these words to me on a seemingly bright July day back in 2022. How could that be? He must have been lying, as I sat on the arm of the couch in my living room, right in front of my eyes was a happy 13 year old chocolate lab lying on the ground with a newly adopted translucent purple cone around his neck. Dad had taken him to the vet to investigate a growth on his ear, we didn’t assume it to be life-threatening, just something that Emmet probably got from rolling around in the backyard. I suddenly looked away from Emmett to see my other dog, Emily, looking at us as if to say that she also understood what my dad had said. Here was the dog I had grew up with, the one that my mom said I used to sleep on as a pillow when I was little to watch TV, one of the two reasons I learned that I wanted to be a veterinarian, to be suddenly be ripped away from me in a mere couple of weeks due to an invisible disease we saw too late.
According to my phones recollection, Emmett’s final goodbyes to his favorite tree in front of our house was on August 1, 2022. I still remember filming that video, trying to be as far away from the camera as possible while still looking out my bedroom window so that you couldn’t hear the sniffles of my nose or the tears running down my cheeks. It was ultimately fruitless though as you can clearly hear these things as you watch Emmett circle and circle his favorite tree, sniffing it, then peeing on it for good measure, being the only one to not know he wasn’t coming back to his home again.
I remember asking what's for dinner, and my mom had said “Baked potatoes”. I had always hated the blandness of the dish and in a moment of childish ignorance for sympathy I protested. Then my mom said to me words that I can still hear to this day, and for the exact reason I can’t say why, “Dad saw it happen, Dad wanted baked potatoes, so we are having them for dinner”. I remember that dinner being in absolute silence, being even afraid to move as Emily was still looking around to see where Emmett was, in between forcing her head into our laps to beg for food she knew she had no chance of getting.
The next morning I woke up to a notification on my phone by a woman named Mrs.Marin, our band director for the MER. It was an ad for a pizza place we had a fundraiser for that night, blaze or MOD I don’t really remember. The one thing I do remember though was being mad at the notification, as if the notification was trying to get me back into the reality of death and how we must move on. Of course I have had people die in my family before this, but they were all great great aunts in their 80s or so who could only speak Spanish, something a 13 year old me could not do. In this moment on August 2nd, I realized that although death is a part of life, we cannot do anything but celebrate the life they led, the influence they had, and will continue to have after their passing (which, in all realness, was going to be “too soon” no matter how long they might end up living for).
In November of that
very same year, it must have been a few days after MER’s sad defeat at citrus
college on the 18th, my dad went to have Emily checked by the vet for an
overall checkup, as well as a swelling she had by her tail that she had
developed. Whenever my dad brought the appointment up in the weeks prior, I
would start crying with him comforting me saying, “We don’t know what's going
to happen”, over and over again, “We don’t know what's going to happen” that's
all he would ever say. We all knew what was going to happen, we just didn’t
want to face the reality yet where we lost two important parts in our life
around the same time. My father came back home with nothing but a collar that
day, and I do not recall anything else about that other than the look on my
dads face. This man who rarely shows negative emotions, especially sadness, had
a face of somberness. He looked as if he was going to cry, something I had
never seen him do before or after this event. Emily’s passing was somewhat
easier since the blow had been softened by Emmett a few months prior. We also
all thought she was going to go first, but ne
ver said that to her face. The one
day I can remember about Emily’s death was when I went to go get the mail a
week later. We had gotten a letter from the vet and I opened it up out of sheer
curiosity. To my surprise, it was a poem. A poem about meeting your dog in the
afterlife, playing with them and their new friends they made while they were
waiting for you to come be with them again. I think that's the most I’ve ever
cried in my life. I couldn’t even get a word out even an hour later.
Eventually, as we all must do, I moved on from the passing of my childhood
dogs, never forgetting who they were, what they did, and what they meant to me
and my family. Even to this day, whenever I hear the song “Euthanasia” by Will
Wood, it brings me right back to where I was on August 1st, even the title
being a lyric from the song. A sunny day where I could do nothing but
appreciate the sun coming back as it did the day before, and wishing loved ones
could do the same. Thank you Emmett and Emily, you might have been trouble at
times, but we could never stay mad at you for long because of all the joy you
brought to us every single day.
Emmett on july 30, 2022
“Over the rainbow, can I stop by and say hello?”
- Euthanasia by Will Wood
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