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Jessie Mae
January 11, 1996 - March 17, 2008
teriorating body. This past weekend she did not eat.
Even though we had made the decision, talked it over with our now grown children, and set a time; when the day came, T nan Id barely look her in the face. I spent part of the morning talking with her and then came out to work for awhile. The vet would come later that afternoon.
My husband was home and he emailed me at one point. “Sophia is here and is laying next to the dog crying. It breaks my heart.” Our daughter had come to say goodbye but did not want to be there when the vet arrived. Our older son was signing a lease on a new apartment. He did not want to be there. Our youngest son was at school and did not want us to get him out.
When the vet arrived, we talked for awhile about the two shots that she would give her. One to sedate. The other to kill. Jessie was outside when I put on her collar and leash. She couldn’t walk to the front yard unassisted. So with me leading, the vet guided and held up her rear end.
The vet was teaiy eyed as she gave her the first shot. I petted her while reading some words that a friend sent honoring dogs. They were timely and worth reading and worth hearing. My husband stood nearby watching and waiting. Very quickly Jessie was in a deep, peaceful sleep, snoring soundly. Her breathing no longer labored. And then the second shot. The vet reassured us that this barbiturate goes straight to the heart. It wouldn’t take long. She would feel no pain. Her last memories would be of me petting her while she slept.
And then she was gone.
Jessie’s 12 years of life and companionship for us reduced to a large lump of flesh and fur. TTie soul leaves quickly.
My husband, the strong one, wept.
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