“Did he collapse again?” I asked.
She nodded as she fumbled with the latch on the back door a few seconds before opening it. The giant dog inside was still breathing, but barely.
“How long ago?” I asked.
“Twenty minutes? Maybe? My neighbor was home and helped get him in the car.”
I climbed up into the vehicle to get a better look, using the stethoscope around my neck to listen to his heart. The steady beat was far fainter than I would have liked. The old dog weakly tried to lift his head when he saw me, groaning in pain from the effort.
“What can I do?” Alex said, appearing out of nowhere.
“Grab the gurney. It’s just inside the door, to the right.”
“On it.”
A couple of minutes later, the three of us grabbed the corners of the heavy comforter the St. Bernard was lying on and used it to lift him onto the wheeled bed.
“Where to?” Alex asked as he led the way inside.
“The room at the end.”
Melanie must have seen the commotion through the window because she was already in the room, firing up the ultrasound machine so I could get a view of Beethoven’s heart. This was his fourth visit in two weeks so we all knew the drill.
Chelsea stood in the doorway, tears streaming down her face while Melanie helped lift the dog’s massive paws to give me better access to his chest. I dreaded what I was about to see and carefully kept my face blank of any expression. I wanted to tell Chelsea she had a little bit longer with him, but the image on the screen just didn’t give me that hope. Beethoven had lived an unusually long life for a St. Bernard, largely thanks to the valve replacement surgery he’d had on his heart a few years ago by a far more experienced doctor than me, but now his heart was failing, and fast. Too fast.
I looked in the dog’s tired eyes, wishing like hell I could help him. I hated this part of the job. Absolutely hated it! It never got easier to lose one of my patients, and a piece of my heart went with them every time. If there was a way I could make our four-legged companions live as long as we did, I would do it in a heartbeat.
My stomach twisted when Beethoven tried to turn his heavy head toward the door, searching for Chelsea. I’d witnessed a lot of death in my time as a vet, and I firmly believed animals instinctively knew when it was their time to go. In those moments, they almost always sought the company of the person they loved the most. And right now, Chelsea was the only one Beethoven wanted to see.
Without saying anything, I turned the machine off and handed the paddle to Melanie. Chelsea shook her head, already knowing what I was about to say.
“Come here, Chels,” I said. “He’s looking for you.”
Chelsea choked on a sob as she walked around me to lean over her best friend. I heard Melanie sniffle before quietly making her escape, and I sensed more than saw Alex leaving the room with her. I didn’t step away from Chelsea, wanting to offer as much comfort as I could, but I also knew some people preferred to say their good-byes in private.
After a moment, I asked, “Would you like me to leave you alone with him?”
She shook her head, blindly reaching for my hand and squeezing tight. I squeezed back, silently reassuring her I would stay as long as she needed.
She leaned down, placing her forehead against Beethoven’s. “Say hi to Dad for me, okay? Give him a big, wet kiss when you see him. You know how much those made him laugh.”
I smiled, remembering Chelsea’s father. He’d owned the convenience store in town that used to have a shaved ice truck parked out front during the summer, and he always used to give us kids tokens for a free treat if we’d help bring in the shopping carts or clean up the parking lot. That was actually how Melanie and I met, fighting over who got the last cart in the parking lot for a treat. She won, of course.
I brushed my fingers through the St. Bernard’s soft, chocolate-brown fur, saying a silent farewell of my own. I was going to miss him. He’d been my most gentle patient since the day I opened this clinic.
I listened to his heart, both wishing and dreading for that final thump to come so his pain and suffering would be over. When it finally stopped beating, I silently draped the instrument around my neck and squeezed Chelsea’s hand again.
“He’s gone,” I whispered.
Chelsea’s body shook from the force of her sobs as she threw an arm over Beethoven’s giant body, and it made me cry with her. I wished there was something I could say or do, but there simply wasn’t.
I prayed for her and her husband, who loved Beethoven just as much as Chelsea did. This was not going to be an easy farewell for either of them.
I had no idea how long I stayed in the room with her while she cried, but when we finally came out, I paused when I saw the tall ivory candle on the counter had been lit. I hated what that candle signified, but it was the easiest way to let everyone in the building know an owner was saying good-bye to their beloved pet. Melanie liked to remind me it served as a vigil too, but it didn’t lessen the sting of each loss for me.
We were the only ones in the building, which meant my sweet friend had only lit the wick as a way to comfort herself and to honor Beethoven. Seeing the flame dance in the dimly lit room only made more of those damn tears slide down my cheeks. Melanie came around the counter and hugged me with every bit of strength she could muster. I’d always loved her hugs, but on days like this, they were even sweeter.
“Pete is already on his way,” she whispered against my chest. She must’ve seen my notes in Beethoven’s file regarding my previous conversation with Chelsea, about what she wanted to happen when his time came. Cremation wasn’t a service I was set up to offer here at the clinic, but Pete Cantrell had been contracted by a few of the local vet clinics in our area for his services.
