Flag Day

In Maine, on the night of June 13, my dog’s health was continuing to deteriorate. Jack was 15. Picking him up off the kitchen floor I laid his body on the couch and offered him a piece of roast chicken. Jack didn’t feel like eating.

Jack liked Irish music so I put on a Chieftain’s album. Hoping the music might help, I sat next to him and stroked his back. Tired and worn out, eyes half-closed, Jack was barely able to lift his head. We listened to a couple songs and then using what strength he had left tried to stand. Seeing he wanted off the couch I lifted him and lay him down on the cool wood floor. Jack trembled, stretched, made a groaning sound and closed his eyes. My co-pilot was nearing the end of the line.

           Jack and I spent the night on the bedroom floor. Jack there and not there, I talked to him about everything and nothing. Jack spoke volumes with his silence. I brought in his water dish but he wasn’t thirsty. I went back into the kitchen and returned with his favorite, a piece of rare hamburger. Nudging my hand with a warm nose, he sighed, closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

           On the bedroom floor I’d awaken from time to time to put a hand on his chest to check his breathing. In the middle of the night I went and poured a shot of whiskey, took it back and sat with him.

The house was empty except for the two us. I sipped whiskey and stroking his face, now and again I could feel his eyes flutter open.

For the first time in our life together, I told him it was okay and that he could go to the next place and start anew. My voice broke and so I whispered how he didn’t have to stay to endure the impossible weight bearing on his old heart, his aching muscles and bones. That he had my heart and soul’s permission to escape his pain and move on.

I had to remind myself that for Jack to believe me, I needed to be strong. Getting my voice back I told him I loved him. And I added that when it was time for me to cross the river I knew he’d be there to greet me. I hope he heard me and understood.

I touched his soft and lovely ears. Out loud and to myself I remembered our life together. I prayed that his good memories were fond and endless.

By the time dawn had arrived, Jack still refused to leave. In the morning I took the little guy out on the lawn. He couldn’t walk but he did lie down and basked in the early sun. Shortly afterwards, I brought Jack’s blanket out on the grass, wrapped him, carried him to the car and eased him into the passenger seat. And for the last time, I drove Jack to the doctor. 

I returned to the house alone and lay his empty collar on the kitchen table. The collar with his rabies tag and his name tag that said- Jackaroooo.

 Throughout the late morning, I struggled to convince myself that I had done the right thing. To do something, I made a pot of coffee. Going to the cupboard for a cup, I stopped in front of the calendar on the wall and saw it was the 14th of June, Flag Day. And then I noticed that on the 15th Jack had an appointment to get his first summer haircut. I called the groomers and explained why I had to cancel.

I hung up, looked at his water bowl on the kitchen floor and could almost feel the breeze from his wagging tail. My co-pilot would never let me fly solo.

Flag Day, I thought. Going on to the three season porch I went out on the top step to where the American flag hung. Standing there, I came to attention, squared my shoulders and snapped a Marine’s salute. And I held that salute forever.