17/08/2025
Are we going home after this injection like before, right Mom?
I’m sitting on the cold table, my paws slipping a little, because they’re shaking. The room smells sharp—like metal and soap—and it makes my nose twitch. I don’t like it here. Mom’s eyes are red again. She’s been crying a lot lately, and every time I try to lick her face, she just holds me tighter.
I hear the soft beep of the machine and the crinkle of paper under my paws. The lady in the blue shirt smiles at me, but it’s that sad kind of smile people wear when something bad is happening. I’ve seen it before—when Grandpa stopped coming home.
“Are we going home after this, like before?” I want to ask.
Last time they poked me, we did go home. Mom gave me chicken for dinner and we curled up on the couch. I liked that.
But Mom doesn’t answer me this time. She just presses her forehead to mine. Her tears drip into my fur, warm and salty. I want to tell her it’s okay. I’m okay. My legs hurt sometimes, and it’s been harder to breathe, but I still wag my tail when she comes into the room. I still love the sound of her voice more than anything.
The man in the white coat says something gentle I can’t quite understand. His hands are warm. He scratches behind my ears in just the right spot, like he knows.
Mom whispers, “It’s time, baby.”
Time for what? A walk? A nap in the sun? Oh, I love naps.
The needle is small. I barely feel it. The lady in blue rubs my paw and says I’m a “good boy” over and over. Mom’s hands are on my cheeks, her eyes locked on mine like she’s trying to memorize every bit of me.
I feel warm all over now. Like the sun is spilling inside me. My legs stop aching. My chest feels light, like I could run again—really run—like I did when I was a pup chasing that yellow ball across the yard.
“Close your eyes, sweet boy,” Mom whispers.
I don’t want to close them. I want to keep looking at her forever. But my eyelids are heavy, and the warmth is so nice. I hear her voice breaking as she says, “I love you.”
I want to tell her:
I love you more. I loved you the first time I saw you. I loved you when you were happy, and when you were sad. I loved every single day, even the bad ones. And I’ll still love you, even when I’m not here.
The room fades, but suddenly I’m standing again. My legs are strong. I can breathe without effort. The colors are brighter, the air sweeter. I turn and see… me. Lying on the table. Mom is sobbing into my fur.
I want to go to her, but something tells me I can’t. Not yet. There’s a light behind me, golden and warm, and I hear barking—happy barking—coming from somewhere far away.
I look at Mom one last time. She can’t see me now, but I can see her. She’s holding my body like it’s still me. I step closer, nuzzle her cheek. She shivers a little, like she felt it.
Then I turn toward the light. My tail wags. I’m not scared.
Because I know—one day—she’ll come find me again. And I’ll be right here, waiting with my ball.
