Wheel

I’ll probably have to kill my dog soon. There is no philosophical treatise to talk or think about at this point beyond the task itself. I am here to witness her pain and take care of business. This is my job for having her as a domesticated pet. This is what is going to happen. And there is nothing, reasoned or imagined, that will stop me. She looks at me with those big brown eyes, as if to say, “Why don’t you want me anymore?” And of these things I am more than mindful, for I am filled with physical dread, longing for what will soon be lost, greedy for not wanting to lose her, and puzzling over an impending meaning that I won’t be able to put into words. My senses are heightened. I am alone with absolutes like “Do not kill” and “I have to do it.” I know, here and now, Simone needs a better body than the one she has. Her pain, expressed in moans and yelps at night, often awakens me. We sit, and I touch her, soothing her. The physical connection calms us both. Now, I am with her, and she finally rests, so far removed from the task at hand, and we both feel comfort from the pain. The time is not now, as I lie in bed, and in the back of my mind, I hear, “I’ll probably have to kill my dog soon.”