Fade Away

I lie there. In pain. Alone yet surrounded by my humans, my pack. The human puppies are stroking me and making whimpering sounds. They are expressing their love and pain and sadness over how sick I am. I am very sick. I can feel how wrong my body is. Even though I cannot describe it in words. Even though I cannot express my relatively simple thoughts. Even though I can articulate my pain.

And the pain. It is overwhelming.

I whimper back. I want my humans to know I love them. I want them to know I am sorry I cannot play. That I cannot jump. That I cannot run. I want to. I want to run and jump and play with the puppies like I used to. I want to run and jump and chase the balls and sticks the alpha, my best friend, used to throw for me. I want to feel the wind, smell all the glorious scents of the world, all the olfactory colors of being. I can barely even do that.

My whimper died before it left my lungs. They cannot even hear it. I am too weak. In too much pain.

My alpha comes and I want to raise my head and wag my tail. I want to bark with excitement. It must be alpha-doggie time, a run, a walk or a visit to the doggie park. But I cannot. I cannot. I cannot.

He rubs the heads of each of the puppies. Gives them hugs. Licks their foreheads in their weird human way. Holds them close. He must be sniffing them with his face buried into their hair. But, humans are sooo...olfactorily blind! I feel bad for them.

His mate hugs their puppies tight. She rubs my head my. She's never loved me as much, but she likes me. I probably shouldn't have peed on her human pillow when she first moved in with alpha. Or chewed her shoes at first either. We had made our peace though.

Alpha picks me up. So gently, so tenderly, so lovingly. He is my bestfriend and I love him. I want, I need to show my appreciation and love, but I cannot. I am so tired, so weak and the pain is so overwhelming. A few months ago, he could not have picked me up: I was too big. That's not the case now.

Each of the puppies touch me and whimper in their human way. Even now, even though I get the gist of the meaning, I really wish they'd just bark dog instead. The youngest starts howling and the older one runs out of the room.

My alpha gently places me in the carrier and takes me to the funky round legged thing. The animal that must be chased and not caught: they are too big to safely take down like the spirits of wolves past said we used to do.

The ride is not long. It feels like it is forever. The pain. It doesn't stop and each start and stop of the round legged thing makes it worse. Each bump.

My alpha gently takes me from the car. He even gently takes me from the carrier. He must want to be close. To be near. To make me feel as though I am loved. I am loved. I want to lick him to show appreciation. I cannot. Even that is too much.

We go inside. I know the smell of this place. I know where I am. I don't like this place, but I am familiar with it. I've been here a lot recently, but have been coming since I was a puppy.

Normally we stop and I can at least smell other dogs in the front of the building. Not today. We walk through, solemn and quiet.

That other person, the one with the jabs and treats, is waiting. I have never quite figured out her place in the pack. She likes me, but seems to do things like I am a puppy, nips that are really unnecessary! I am a good dog! She is sad, but solemn. Not had sad as the puppies or my alpha.

My alpha lays me down. My alpha strokes my head. He keeps stroking for a while.

There is a nip.

And I begin to slip away. My alpha continues to stroke my head. The pain begins to lessen. I hear my alpha say the human barks that always brought me happiness:

"Good boy. Good boy...."

I want to wag my tail, but...

"Good boy. Good boy...."

And I fade away.