Last act of love

I have reluctantly grown an unsightly mole on the center of my head. I know they see it, but they still seem to love me as they did 15 years ago. They always a sense of overwhelming love directed towards me. I cannot tell if my elder brain is deceiving me or if it is true that I have not had a cut in over a year. 

My shaggy hair resides over my cataract stricken brown eyes. Seeing is difficult. I always think people are there when they are not. I rely on my sense of touch and smell to know where the people are. I also rely on the shadows that dance around the house to guide my day. If a shadow finds itself around my food bowl, I know it is time for dinner. 

I frequently ask myself, Is that smell me? I get distinct whiffs of sour feet beneath my hairy chin and overgrown yeast underneath my shaggy ears. The youngest girl loves my smell. She buries her head in my ears frequently throughout the day, sniffing with such great intensity just as I used to sniff the fresh air outside. I have recently lost my enjoyment of that activity due to my overwhelming fatigue and achy joints. I like to lay and observe now. I like to be pet, I like to be fed, and I love to be loved. 

I hear the young girl tell me how much she loves my stink. It is as though she only loves that icky smell because it is mine. Sometimes when she rubs my ears I like to sniff her hand after.  Just to confirm that nauseating smell is indeed my doing. In all honesty, my days have been getting harder and harder. I wake up frequently throughout the night to go to the bathroom, waking up the older man who has trouble sleeping through the night anyway. More often than not, I don't make it outside. I've become increasingly rebellious with where I do my business. I hear the woman who has taken care of me for 15 years frequently make remarks about the urine smell that has seeped its way into the living room and foyer carpets. I usually feel bad about the mess I make but my people have never shown disappointment in me, only love and understanding. 

When I stand my back legs creak and I am overwhelmed with painful aches that resonate within my hips. It is difficult for me to put weight on my legs so it has been almost impossible for me to squat while I pee so most times I pee on myself, causing my fur to become tangled and smelly, another mess the women cleans up. 

I miss when I was young and free of the pains that stopped me from enjoying my simple yet fulfilled life. Although my days are filled with struggle, I still wake up every morning eager for the day ahead of me. I am admittedly obsessed with the love I receive. I crave pats on the head and forehead kisses. I look forward to burying my head into the woman's chest every morning as she whispers to me that I am a very good girl. I know she means it. I enjoy the massages my people give me on my hips and legs and the way the girl wraps her entire body around me most nights, telling me how much she loves me. I love the way the older man rubs my head as he passes by, calling me his baby girl. I know that no matter what I do, or how badly I behave, or how smelly I get, these people will always love me unconditionally. All I've ever wanted was to be loved and they have showered me with it everyday of my existence. I also can't deny that I surely do enjoy the food they give me. When I was younger, and they were eating. I couldn't help but slap my paw on them, begging them for whatever was producing the delicious smells. I used to get scolded for this behavior. They used to get annoyed by my determination, but in their defense, I had little to no self control when it came to food. Surprisingly though, as I got older, they began to grant me more of what I wanted. I am now a whopping 15 years old and they give me any and all the heavenly scraps. I don't even have to beg anymore; they just give me the deliciousness! I think they sympathize with the fact that I can't move as efficiently as I once could, so they try to make up for it with food, and it works. I wake up every morning reluctant to acknowledge my slow but surely increasing pain to indulge in the joy that their passionate love and treats give me. 

Things seem to be getting harder for me and recently things have taken a turn for the worse. The pain in my joints have begun to overcloud my happiness. My lack of sight and hearing has ultimately made me feel helpless, maybe even a bit of a burden. Sometimes I am in so much pain that I don't even want the people to touch me. I get agitated and want to be left alone, which is a very alien feeling for me. When I feel this way, I get scared because I can no longer recognize myself. 

Today I wake up as I always do, pain shoots up my weak and shaky legs, but my tail still wags. Something was different this morning. The atmosphere was tense and the people were acting odd towards me, as if I was fragile like glass. They seemed to feel sorry for me, sorrier than they ever had. The women and the girl have puffy tear soaked eyes and the man can hardly look at me. I lay down on the floor where I always reside, and the girl wraps her familiar body around me. She lets out intense sobs into my disheveled fur. The woman is petting my head. She tells me that I am such a good girl. I am aware of her indisputable misery as tears fall from her face and land on my weak body. I don't want them to be sad. That's the last thing I would ever want. 

The girl offers me a smooth brown ball to consume. She tells me it's a Lindor Truffle. It was the most amazing thing I have ever tasted! Creamy and sweet, something I have never encountered before. Have they been holding out on me all this time?? I am absolutely mesmerized by the heavenly taste; I almost forgot about my extreme discomfort. 

An unfamiliar woman enters my house wearing brightly colored scrubs. I have heard about women like her. I think I know what's about to happen. I get a sudden surge of fear but that fear soon transitions into undeniable peace. The woman in scrubs is now on the floor with us. My people are uncontrollably crying and clinging to me. I want to tell them not to worry because I am not worried. In fact, I feel a strong source of happiness radiating within me. 

The woman in scrubs pricks me with a needle. It hurts for a second and I cannot help but yelp but soon I become very sleepy. So sleepy. So relaxed. I lay my heavy head on the girl's lap whose tears are now descending onto my face. Their cries become louder, but ironically, my happiness becomes stronger. I want to tell them not to be sad as this was the best last act of love they could've given me. I can't wait to remember what it feels like to be young. As my eyes slowly shut, I remember the love they have given me my entire life and I want to tell them thank you. I hope they know how much I appreciate them and how much I love them too. Once again, I am happy. Once again, I am free.