Someone’s pet dog died on what was supposed to be tax day. Benjamin Franklin had it wrong. Death is now the only thing certain. Taxes? Not so much, as they were pushed down the proverbial road since last year.
Even putting an animal down these days is callous. Probably as much as covid regulations not allowing family members to even assist during burial. In the case of our tax day dog death, quarantine roles were reversed.
The pooch stayed inside the warm vet building, while the owner was kept out in the cold. It was only allowed to see the pet’s last moment through videoconferencing. Heck, they’re now ever profiting from the remains. There’s a markup now for getting the ashes.
Even the coordinating with family to have better pet closure go by the wayside. If one can’t be present, why bother? It’s not like the pet hadn’t gone through the process of human death before in the family. It has dutifully licked tears from their owners when their patriarch died.
There’s this feeling that gets to you, even though the euthanasia planning is done as it should be. It’s more as if planning a death where the affected person won’t be told until it’s too late. That may just get one guilty enough, that it could get you to concede letting the ‘condemned’ canine roam free in the park for the last time.
Also, to be allowed licking its favorite food right off the owner’s plate, on purpose. Even though human food may give a pure-bred diarrhea, it was like granting a death-row inmate their final nutritional wish. Taking the dog to be put down with another human that’s always been closed to the animal is also best.
Still, imagine being in NYC, where so many have been reported to die from covid. How weird would someone feel in feeling bad more for a dog there, than for what’s happened to other people? Thing is, the year by year connectivity made ever stronger by oxytocin release between owner & pet takes its toll.
We ponder then, what is the price of loss? To be continued…