“Yes, I know, I'm not moving, I'm not moving anymore...”
It stinks in here, the smell of drugs and animal perspiration. I'm old, I'm losing my hair and I can't even scratch like I like to. Still, I'm a little worried in this waiting room. Behind the opaque door, there are strange noises, muffled meows, soothing words, the sly clanking of vials on glass shelves. I can't hear very well, but my master is with me. I can't see very well either, and I can make out patient shadows too...
This morning, I couldn't get up, even though my basket isn't any higher than usual. It's my hindquarters that have lagged behind my willpower, and then I've got a sharp pain all over my spine, screaming for...death. I haven't eaten in a few days, and the flies are feasting on my fresh bowl. I can't keep them away from my meal, and I'm not hungry. I can't even bark, my voice is hoarse and tired, and I wouldn't be able to keep an eye on my master's house today. A little girl looks at me, I think she wants to caress me and, for her sake, I can give her a little lick on the hand. But it's impossible for me to reach her sweet face...
“Don't move...”
My boss pats my head and scratches my ears, I like it... I close my eyes in delight when he does that... I wish he'd never stop. When I was a young puppy, he'd take me in his arms and we'd read the paper together. At least, he'd put pages on the floor to teach me to read, I think. Now he's holding a magazine, but he doesn't seem very interested in it. He looks at me a lot. I look for his eyes, but he doesn't show them to me, and he still caresses me like he did when I was little. At times, a pain twists my back and my paws start to tremble and scratch the cold white tiles. It hurts...
“Sage...”
I do what I can... I manage to get my paws back, moaning a little. I wait in this dark and strange room; the neon lights flicker and I rest my head on my master's shoe. I might try a little nap if the pain forgets me for a moment, but he won't leave without me. In my torpor, I remember the long walks I used to take with my master, my barking was his laughter and his laughter our happiness. How many times I was able to bring him back his stick, as if he was throwing it as far as he could on purpose to lose it. How many times have I warned him when ill-intentioned passers-by, marauding intruders, obscure rogues in search of mischief, crossed the paths of our young home... How many times have I made those big cats run, just for the pleasure of seeing the plume of their vexed tails swell...
“That was good...”
The drooling tongue in the corner of his mouth, always ready for the ball and hours of play, and it was my master who always abdicated first. I can feel that he doesn't dare move his foot and the cramps must be bothering him. I watch him with one eye, to keep an eye on him. He's not at ease and his smell isn't the usual one...
We're safe, we're together. And yet, I'm not too calm myself. The little girl puts her finger on my boiling nose and I close my eyes for this kind attention. I must exist in one of her picture books. My master is talking to himself, saying he'll never do it again, because it hurts too much, because he'll be all alone in his big house, in front of this empty bowl and this ball that doesn't roll anymore, mute with happy barks and caresses in perdition. I don't understand it all, but I agree with him, because he's my master...
Yesterday evening, the children in the house gave me lots of hugs, wet kisses even more than usual, with tears in their eyes. They had brought my ball and my piece of stick as offerings, and put my favorite blanket on my back. They watched over me in my basket, and to think I'd been watching over everyone all these years. My master stayed with me for a long time last night, I don't think he was sleepy. Maybe his back hurts too...
And then the sneaky door opened and suddenly I was afraid...
A whiff of terrible smells assails my trembling nose. A white coat picks me up and my master stands frozen like a helpless statue in despair at the speed of time. He looks at me through his silent tears and I don't quite understand. I also look at him with the eyes of an old dog beaten by life, and he understands, he's my Master...
English (United Kingdom)