Goodbye, Sweet Cody
Photo by Rob Wingate on Unsplash
Thanksgiving, 2005
I arrive home to find my childhood dog much skinnier than ever. Mom mentions that our normally overweight golden lab, Cody, has been sick, and we'd probably have to put him down soon. She has been force-feeding him with Similac and a turkey baster — which, I realize later, I hope wasn't used for our Thanksgiving turkey.
Thanksgiving passes with tradition. The typical turkey, canned corn, mashed potatoes, green beans and pumpkin pie. But it feels tasteless.
Our tradition of decking the halls with a new Christmas tree the day after Thanksgiving is on hold. Our Christmas spirit crushed by our heavy hearts. Earlier that morning, my mother tearfully scheduled an appointment to have my dog put down, and the rest of the family wanted to spend time with him in his final hours.
About an hour later, it was time to say our final goodbyes to our dog. I’ve never been a dog person. I find the cool and aloof personalities of cats to be more my style. Maybe deep down I’m the same.
But overweight yellow dogs that love you unconditionally grow on you, even after 11 years of soiled carpets, chewed-up underwear and violated blankets.
As my mom pulled out the leash, our lethargic, slowly dying dog perked right up, expecting to go on another walk. Cody’s excitement and his wagging tail elicit a wave of brutally emotional tears and anguish. Did he have a sense of what was to come? Had Cody accepted his fate with grace, or was just happy in his ignorance?
We did the right thing by putting him down. Cody operating on pure animal instinct, starving himself to death as his natural, short life came to an end. When you have to force-feed a pet that would normally eat roadkill, you know it's time to hang it up. But playing God with another being’s life wrecks your mind and your soul.
My sister and I couldn't handle seeing our sweet Cody die in the clinic. We stayed at home and distracted ourselves with Golden Girls reruns. Elderly humor seemed to medicate our raw emotions as we said a small prayer for sweet Cody.
My mom seemed to have the hardest time. She’s going through chemotherapy. We’re shopping for wings tomorrow. Cody was like another child to her, and this couldn't have come at a worse time. Her childhood dogs had died by being hit by cars. Maybe that made it easier for her to cope with those deaths, accepting what was rather than euthanizing your own "child."
Teary-eyed, Mom and my brother return.
Empty leashes, leftover dog food, and "doggie gates” remind us just how permanent the decision was.
Rest in peace, sweet Cody. We will see you in heaven.
