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it. That needle would end all his pain, unlike all the other needles we had subjected him to. With trembling hands, the vet picked up the needle and asked Baxter for his paw. He was sitting in my lap, all eighty pounds of him, but he still reached out his paw towards her, tail wagging.

"I'm sorry. I can't see the vein," the vet said as she pulled the needle away from his leg. I looked up to see tears streaming down her cheeks as well. "This is harder than I thought it would be."

Baxter was gone in a matter of seconds. The three of us broke down, sobbing and crying. There was no comforting any of us. The tech took Baxter out of my arms. We had made arrangements for her to come to my house and help dig his grave months earlier. She had volunteered to do this. She said it helped with her grieving process. She also offered to help me gather up all of his things, when I was ready for that.

I walked around in a stupor for several days. I had foster animals to care for, so I was busy, but I still ached deep inside. His toys were still about and his leash was still hanging on the hook by the front door. The indention of his body was still on the bed, close to his ramp. I avoided that spot. I slept on the couch for several days - couldn't bring myself to sleep in our bed.

I ate very little and cried a lot. I had to remember to turn off the alarms that went off when it was time for his medications. I found some peace caring for the other animals in my charge and writing all my thoughts and feelings down in the notebook I had kept about him. I was grieving and it would take time. Lots of time. I had the blessing of coping with this for months before it actually happened, but it would still take time.

The vet tech stopped by after work to help me gather up Baxter's things. I had called her to take her up in her generous offer. He had been a rescue dog, like all my other non-human family members, so I decided to take them to the shelter I had saved him from. Some of his things, I kept. His leash was put into a box, as was his "bed bed" blanket and stuffed banana squeaky toy. I took the box to the shelter, explaining each item as I handed it to the volunteer who was helping me. I didn't know her and she didn't know me, but we both cried as I told her all about Baxter and our life together.

"Thank you; it is wonderful you cared enough to let us have these things," she told me. "He sounded like a great dog. These things will help other great dogs as they get ready to go to their homes."

Looking around the shelter that day was something I had no intention of doing. I wasn't ready. I didn't know if I would ever be ready. As I was leaving, I heard a howl and I felt compelled to see who was calling to me. I made my way down the wire cages until I found the owner of that howl. It was a bloodhound mix puppy. Tripping over it's long ears, it ran to me. Ignoring the sign that said not to open the cage door, I scooped up that puppy.

"You must be Nadia," I told her before even checking to see if she was a girl. I knew her name right away. She went home with me right away.

Nadia was not a replacement for Baxter. Nothing could ever replace him. I am still grieving and it has been over ten years since I "helped" him that last time. I still cope with the guilt and the sadness. The only things that gives me any comfort is knowing his last few years were spent with me, not as a homeless pet. I also take comfort in that we both were loved and he knew I did all I could to make him happy and comfortable. I still have periods of time when I cry over my decision. This is one of those moments. I am still coping with loosing him. I always will be.

Learn more about this author, Emma Riley Sutton.
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