Goodbye, little boy

Tia:
I was woken at a little after three on Friday morning by a clunk sound. I turned on the lamp and saw my twelve-year-old puppy hobbling along my bedroom floor, towards the door. He had been having trouble with his back legs for some time, lately they collapse from under him. I scooped him up in my arms and carried him to the yard, where I sat him in the grass so he could go to the toilet. I carried him back to my bedroom and lay him in his bed.

Enzi had been unwell for a few days before that night. I took him to the vet for a check-up some time earlier in the week. The vet confirmed that he had arthritis in both back legs and one of his front knees, and told me his heart murmur was at 5.6 (last time it was 2). She told me that if he coughed I should bring him in immediately as this was a sign of heart failure. He had a chronic infection in his ears which needed antibiotic drops (which he hated) and a skin irritation from a bite which he had scratched red raw.

On Thursday, after the first appointment, I noticed he was still in pain. His back legs still collapsed now and then. He coughed. I called the vet and made an appointment to see her the next day at 8.30 a.m. She explained he would need to be there all day so that he could be sedated for scans and x-rays, and so that he could be monitored.

Soon after I lay him down in his bed, he started coughing. I called the on-call vet and explained the situation, that I was very worried for my little boy. She said that I could meet her at the hospital and that she would be able to make him comfortable, but that she couldn't do much until someone else came to assist.

He tried to get up and walk but couldn't. I went to him and held him, stroking his head and ears and telling him that everything would be ok. His breathing was becoming laboured; I knew his body was shutting down and he was dying. I wrapped him in a blanket my nephew Daniel had given him and woke up my son, Ade, and my daughter, Bee. I wanted them to have the chance to say goodbye. My other two daughters, Lala and Bin, were at Lala's house. His head was jerking to the right every now and then. I whispered in his ear: "Darling, I love you, but you have to let go".

He stopped breathing, his eyes glazed and staring at an unknown point behind me. Suddenly he gasped and the laboured breathing continued. Please Lord, take him home, end his pain. I held him tighter and kissed his head. I watching his face through my teary eyes and saw nothing. His breathing stopped a second time. Again he started to breath. "Darling I love you, let go", I sobbed.

Blood and saliva oozed out of his mouth; white froth from his nose. His breathing slowed and stopped. We waited for another gasp, but nothing came. His neck loosened and his head fell to the side; his tongue slackened and fell out of his mouth. There was bodily fluid everywhere. I never knew death would be this messy.

It was a quarter to five when my baby boy left this world.

I debated calling Lala and Bin but didn't want to scare them by calling at that time of the morning. Ade and Bee convinced me to call; if they were away they would want me to call them. Lala, Bin and Cal drove over straight away to say their goodbyes. It struck me that Bin, who turns 18 this April, has spent more of her life knowing Enzi than not. The only dry eyes in the house that morning were Cal's.

Once the vet had opened, Ade and I took Enzi there. The cause of death was heart failure. The vet offered to bury my boy and I accepted. I was about to leave and I had the urge to ask "may I say goodbye one more time?" The lady said, "of course, take all the time you need". Ade and I went into an examination room, where we found Enzi on the table, bundled up like a baby, seemingly asleep. I kissed his forehead and cried. We only stayed with him for five minutes; I knew I would stay all day if I didn't leave then. As Ade and I walked into the waiting room, I could see the faces of the waiting clients; they knew what had happened to us.

Bee sent Daniel, my favourite nephew, a text message on Friday morning. He loved Enzi as his own dog so I expected to hear from him immediately. By Saturday afternoon I still hadn't heard from him so I decided to call him. He didn't answer his phone so I left a message.

Dan:

"Hi Darling, I'm just wondering why you haven't called to see what happened with Enzi. Anyway give me a call when you get this."

That was the message I got this afternoon from Tia. I was going to call her on Saturday night, to give her a chance to breathe and get used to the idea. When Pop died, I didn't want to talk to anyone for a few days; I didn't even tell anyone except Liz for a few days to give myself a chance to breathe. I told Tia that I wanted her to have some time to herself, like I needed when Pop died, when I called her back. She told me the story of Enzi's last hours. I didn't cry although I suspect that Tia thought I would.

That night I sat down to write a post about my little boy, Encito, but the words wouldn't come. I decided to write about his last hours from Tia's perspective in an effort to try to detach myself from the pain he must have felt. By the time I sat down to write, I had forgotten a few small details of the story so I made them up. In a way it worked, writing from Tia's perspective, but on the other hand it made it worse because it seems a little cold now. But death is never warm.

Goodbye, my little boy, my little Encito.
c.1995-2007