The veterinarian said I made the right decision, but I can't help but feel ruefully conscience-stricken. Taking the remainder of your life from you was difficult and jarring...but please, please, please believe me...these past few months, your suffering trumped your ability to stay content. I tried my best to make these last moments enjoyable for you. I suppose only you will know the answer to that one.
It was excruciating tricking you into the hospital today. When I first saw you at the Humane Society in 1998, you were a shaky, insecure pup. Somebody must've treated you horribly wrong, because your heart expelled all kinds of distrust, so much so that you wouldn't even let me take you home. Nevertheless, with time and commitment we built an intimate bond together...and for fifteen years, you trusted me to keep you far away from harm. Leading you into that veterinary hospital will go down as my crowning deceit. I'm so sorry. You probably thought you were going on a walk, didn't you? Please don't hold this against me.
There are hard choices in life...and they must be made effortlessly at times, despite the pain they casually string along in their wake. Smokey, you will forever be absent from the rest of my life...and this choice that I've made...well, its burden is mine and mine alone. I know I made the correct decision, but for today, I shall relish my guilt and sadness; I'll hold them up like trophies, mainly because these are the equitable rights that come along with being a fragile, tender human being.
I'm so sorry that I had to let you go. I love you more than you'll ever know. Thanks for being my friend.
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