Up until then, the only experience I’d had with euthanasia was from the veterinary perspective, not the client perspective. Still, having witnessed this process so many times before certainly made it much, much easier. I didn’t have to process any of the technical details.
I was taken to a comfy little room with a sofa and a year’s supply of Kleenex, then left alone to say my final goodbyes. What was there to say? It was more important just to be, to hold his little head in the crook of my arm one more time.
I sang him his little lullaby again. “Bubsy’s boat’s a silver moon, sailing in the sky, sailing o’er a sea of dreams, as the clouds drift by… Sail, Bubsy, sail, out across the sea, only don’t forget to sail back again to me.” I had trouble getting the last few words out.
By the time the doctor came back I was ready, but I cold only whisper a little “I love you” as he slipped away. We put his little body, snuggled in a blanket, into a box, and I cradled the box as I walked out of the hospital and into the sunlight.
What happened next is almost comical.
As frivolous as it might be to some, I wanted to have him cremated, but I wanted to do this through my vet at home. That was an hour away, and I still had several hours worth of cleaning to do at the rental unit before I could head for home. So I did what any sensible vet student would do: I put him in the fridge. If my renter had any idea…
Eventually, I got Mr. Tabby’s body to my vet’s office, where I’ve bagged up many pets for cremation before, but never my own. As I put the identification tag around his foot, put him in a body bag and into the freezer, and called the crematorium, I was proud of my ability to do these things.
It was a tiny veterinary rite of passage.