Few body blows match the psychological kidney punch of discovering you need to put a pet down-especially when that pet, with the help of medicine, seems just as spry as the day you got her.
Yet that's what must be done, I recently discovered, after the veterinarian diagnosed the dog my ex and I share.
Thankfully, Morgan's medicine keeps her symptoms at bay and, in turn, the veterinarian gave her the summer to live. I've made it my mission to show Morgan the time of her life. And in so doing, I've discovered the many parks our neighborhood has to offer, as well as a spirit of kindness that arises in times of deep sadness.
Morgan isn't the prettiest dog you've ever seen. Even if she were full-breed, it's unlikely she'd win Best in Show. It's just as unlikely she'd show at all.
With an appearance that might best be described as idiosyncratic, Morgan brings together three different breeds. Her body owes its length and low ground clearance to the daschund hound; her long, cylindrical torso clears the earth by a mere few inches. Her face is pure Chihuahua-bug-eyes, perky ears and all. And what brings these together is the English bulldog in her.
Much like the bulldog, Morgan sits with her front paws angled outward. More conspicuous, however, is her bulldog underbite, a particularly prominent characteristic that causes orthodontists to see dollar signs. It's a grin and a growl all in one, without even trying.
Taken all together, Morgan's appearance attracts attention. Lots of it. And thanks to our walking schedule, made more frequent by the limited time she has left, Morgan's attracted more attention than usual.
One would think any dog would kill to be in her position, right? Well, not Morgan. She dislikes children, with their quick movements and uncoordinated hands. She dislikes strangers. She dislikes cats.
About the only thing she likes is her bone.
Nonetheless, whenever anyone asks to pet her and, consequently, a conversation ensues, I often explain why we're out on a long walk many blocks from home. Inevitably, after hearing her story, the person offers Morgan a few extra pats, and me an occasional hug.
It's never easy saying good-bye to a dog, though it's much easier when the whole neighborhood says goodbye with you.
When my ex discussed euthanizing Morgan at the vet, a nurse's aide held him as he struggled to gather the necessary yet sad information. Indeed, the price to put Morgan, or any small dog, down is a mere $50-a price hardly commensurate with the joy a pet brings. Times like these make the yawning gulf between cost and worth all the more wide.
No matter. Morgan and I have the summer, and we have Capitol Hill. If the summer ends the way it began, Morgan can expect a few extra walks and a few extra pats, and I a few extra hugs.
It's what we do on Capitol Hill. At some level it reflects our values as a neighborhood, for we see the creatures we take into our homes as equally valuable as those who own them.
I have little doubt she'll enjoy her last summer, and only time can tell the number of people she'll win over. With a face only a mother could love, her mug nonetheless begs the question: might you, too?
One could do worse than be a walker of dogs. And one could do worse than to do so in Capitol Hill.[[In-content Ad]]
