STILLNESS OF APPOMATTOX
The appointment was for 4 p.m. on April 23, 2009. In little more than a week Lynn and I would be leave the USA for our three and more years in South Africa. Earlier in the day Lynn and I took Appomattox for a final walk through the woods and ledges, along the old gas-line easement to the first fallen tree blocking the path. Appo pulled to the right to take the detour and was disappointed when I said "Not this time, Apps. Let's go back to the house". She looked at me and didn't see the grey, fat guy who has trouble walking as far as the new development's gazebo these days - she just saw the pack-leader making a different decision, one that the pack must obey. So the appointment was for 4 p.m. on April 23 - St. George's day. The patron saint of England had saved a fair maid by slaying the dragon. At about 2:45, Lynn said "I'm taking Appo for another walk" and so she did, to the gazebo and back. At 3:20 I sat outside on our stone wall, bathed in warm spring sunshine; the first good day for a long time. Up to the right, Lynn and Appo appeared over the hill and down, to be lost from sight behind the chicken shed as they walked together down the farm road. When they came back into view, so much closer now, Appo saw me stand and she lunged forward with her tongue hanging out, pulling Lynn firmly along. They ran the final few steps and Appo demanded that I lean over so she could lick my face. "Thanks, Appo." I took the leash, two of them in fact, one for each hand because she sure could pull, that dog.
The appointment was for 4 p.m. but it was too early to leave, so I led Appo behind the garage and down to the wilderness where she was never allowed to go. We pushed into the boggy grasses and tangles of thorn giving Appo another thrill - so many new smells and sensations - what a day! But too soon it was 3:45 p.m. and Appo didn't want to leave. "Ride in the van?" I asked. Her head and ears came up - ride in the van? Perfect. Of course, her paws, usually so clean and dry, were muddy and wet and she made sure to apply them to as many seats as possible as I tied one leash to the seat belt. She stood behind me with her head thrust forward between the two front seats and my right hand alternately petting her and pushing her back as she pulled against the restraining leash. The unyielding desire to join me in the driver's seat was always anticipated and provided for.
We pulled into the vet's parking lot at 3:55 p.m. - such a short ride. Too short. Appo managed to be relatively patient while I rearranged the leashes and then she jumped down to the heavenly smells of the grassy area where dogs from the kennels were exercised. It wasn't easy to get her away from such an interesting place but we didn't have much choice. When we walked into the waiting area she was, as usual, very happy to hear the dogs moving around behind the glass windows that separate the medical area from the kennel area. A lady walked in with some raggedy looking hairball on a thin chain and Appo strained to say "Hello" which in her mind would involve eating the other dog. She began to give the death bark and showed her very efficient teeth in an unladylike snarl. The young attendant hastily asked us to come with her to the back room as I said "I'm afraid that's one of the reasons why we're doing this today; why we can't place her anywhere". Appo didn't want to go to the back room. Nor did I.
It was 4:00 p.m. "Can you lift her up onto this table-scale so we can weigh her?" Of course. "Ah, 47.2 lbs. Dr. Gregg will be with you in a few minutes." Too few, I thought. "Would you like to pay now so you don't have to hang around afterward?" No thanks; it didn't seem right to hand over the silver right in front of the victim. Appo stood on the table and pretty soon exhausted the room's possibilities; a waste bin, a counter-top and a window. I made her sit and I put my arms around her and just held her, which for a change she accepted passively. Her tongue was now hanging way out and I realized that she'd gone for a long walk with Lynn and I'd then taken her for a small hike and she'd never had the chance to get to her water-bowl. She was thirsty and I felt like a stupid failure. But just then she caught sight of a small white fluff-dog outside in the pen. Appo insisted that she leave the table, where she had a good view outside, and get down to the floor where she could use the window-sill to place her front paws and thereby achieve a very bad (but much closer) view. She began to whine at the oblivious dog which was doing its best to relax for personal reasons - is there no privacy?
It was 4:15 p.m. and Dr Gregg came in to the room. "I've given you a few minutes extra," he said "to see if you really want to go through with this. Did you change your mind?" No, I haven't changed my mind - I never want to go through with this. But I don't have another choice. There's a kind of pressure on both sides of my head and a sense of unreality. None of us is here; we are not doing this. He leaves the room and Appo tries to follow. A moment later he's back and says "You know, we usually do this with old dogs but she's young and strong" (thanks doc). "I think I'll have to give her a tranquilizer and then put an IV on her. We don't want her to suffer unnecessarily - or you either. It will be quick" and he left the room again. I was still pondering what it might mean to suffer necessarily when he came back with two male assistants. "We'll just go do the tranq and IV and bring her right back" said Gregg, "Will she go OK?" Oh yes, she's a good dog. So they led her out of the room and I was left standing there alone. I didn't want her to be taken away without me; that was why I was here so she wasn't alone. I took tissues and wiped away some moisture - I must be sweating. Outside the little white dog had been replaced by a black lab - but the task at hand remained the same. I noticed the sappy "Rainbow Bridge" story on the window-sill, framed with a suitable flowery border. I read it anyway and it's not fair that such maudlin and obvious sentimentality should require another two tissues.
It was 4:25 p.m. and the door opened as one young man came in carrying Appo and lifted her back onto the table after another young man placed a clean blanket on it for her to stand on. She was no longer panting. I moved forward and she saw my face right in front of her and she perked up a little. There was an IV in her front left leg and obviously they'd given her the tranquilizer because she wasn't bothered by any of this. Gregg had followed in and now he looked carefully at me and said, "This is very quick you know. Very quick." I took Appo's face in between my hands and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. "That's good. You can hold her like that,' said Gregg. I realized simultaneously that the young man was still positioned with his arms under her as she stood, so that she wouldn't suddenly slump down and from the corner of my right eye I could see Gregg attaching a very long syringe to the IV - yes, that would take a long plunge and they couldn't risk an untranquilized dog tearing away from the needle.
I looked into Appo's eyes, locked on mine and it all could not be happening - she wanted to go home. "It's OK," I said, "You're a good dog. Don't get stuck around a tree" and our foreheads were together and then slowly her head began to droop against my hands and the young man gently let her ease down onto the table. My hand still was on her face, cupping her left cheek and ear. The other young man moved quietly to the table and softly moved her back legs out so that she lay on her side. They both left and Gregg leaned over Appo with a stethoscope to her chest. I stroked her back and head and flank. Gregg looked up, into my eyes, and gave a nod "That's it. She'll give one last breath in a minute but that's just a body reflex. She's gone. Take as long as you like." He pointed to her leash and collar. "Do you want to take these?" he asked. No, but every time she went to bed at night I'd take her collar off and tell her how good she was to stand so still for me. So I undid the collar and slipped it from around her neck and told Gregg what a good dog she'd been about that. As he turned to leave, Appo's chest moved and she gave three quick exhalations - 1, 2, 3. "Oh" I said. "Yes, that's what happens," said Gregg and he left the room.
It was 4:30 p.m. and the appointment was over. I tried to close Appo's eyes but they wouldn't close. The end of her tongue, pink and inky blue, lolled out of her mouth - still thirsty? - and I tried to put it back in her mouth but it wouldn't go. She was warm, very warm. She was still Appo. I couldn't believe she was not going to cough and look up, wondering what all the fuss had been about. I couldn't believe I'd stood there while this piece was torn out of me. She looked alive. I talked to her in case she could hear me - you're a good dog, Appo. You didn't do anything wrong except be so unplaceable. Irreplaceable. "Be a good dog. Stay in the yard; stay on the chain; no barking. And don't get stuck around a tree." The collar and two leashes were dropped in the garbage can. I left the room reluctantly and finished the business out at the front - MasterCard for euthanasia and "common burial". It took about ten minutes; they were busy. But finally I was done. And I returned to the small room at the back, down the long empty corridor. Surely, there was some mistake? Surely, she was waiting for me? It could not be otherwise. But it was. I tried again to close her eyes. She was much less warm. I stroked her some more and kissed her head. "Are you dead?" I whispered but there was only stillness. "Oh, Appo. I am so very sorry." And it was 4:50 p.m. Home by five.
