Nutmeg: An Adventure In Life

Mina and Cindie gave Nutmeg a drink from the garden hose in the backyard. She loved to drink from the hose. Nutmeg lay on the grass in the cool morning shade motionless except for her black tongue lapping the water. She had a white tee-shirt wrapped around her belly. Mina had used this to try to help her walk, lifting it for her as she spasmodically tried to synchronize her legs. It wasn't working.

I told Mina it was time. I quietly lifted Nutmeg from the grass and quickly carried her through the house to the car. Mina opened the doors for me. Nutmeg was content. As Mina closed the backdoor of the car and gazed at Nutmeg through the glass there were tears in her eyes.

I got Nutmeg to the doc by 10:15. He took her temp., examined her eyes, listened to her heart. Nutmeg was patient and peaceful and accepting. The doc and I talked a little. I told him that Nutmeg no longer wanted to eat. She had gotten much worse since yesterday when he last saw her. He said this rapid deterioration usually means her spine has been impacted. A portion of vertebra had cracked as a result of the arthritis and her nervous system was irrevocably damaged. He noted that Nutmeg's hind legs remained crossed and out of control when he lifted her.

I told him that everyone at home had said good-bye when I left for his office. We would tell Andy when he called. He excused himself for a few minutes and I held Nutmeg in my arms and talked softly to her that it was ok and that it was going to get better. The doctor returned with a syringe. He shaved a patch on her right front leg and felt for a vein. I held Nutmeg as he gently inserted the needle. Nutmeg didn't move. "If only I could take this all back," I lamented to myself as the reddish solution entered Nutmeg's body. 20 seconds later, she jerked her head up and let out a low and sad moan that softly died as her head gently fell to rest in my arms. 15 seconds after that, the rapid rise and fall of her chest stopped and her hind legs flickered. The doc listened to her heart. "She's gone," he whispered. Her head shuddered once then twice as her life and soul were finally released. It was 10:40.

"You can have a few minutes with her," the doc said, as he thoughtfully left me alone in the room. I couldn't talk. I spent my few last minutes with Nutmeg thinking of the old days, knowing that she was no longer in pain and would one day be with us again jumping with joy as we opened the door once again to enter her home. I stroked her and rubbed her ears for the last time in this world.

As I left the office, which was thankfully empty except for the receptionist, she said I could either pay now or they could bill me. I could say nothing but she knew my choice and I felt her compassion instinctively reaching out to me. I tried to say thank you but nothing came out. I left and drove away quickly.

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