I used to have this coffee table in my living room. I bought it off craigslist for $15. I loved it because it was functional, not overly large, but most importantly, because I was able to sit on the floor and put my legs under it. I used to throw a folded blanket on the ground, sit down and either play Xbox or set my laptop on the table and write. Sidney would usually come over and lay down beside me on the blanket, knowing that when my hands were free for a moment, I’d always reach down and give her scratches. We spent many a weekend morning just like that.

On the other side of the coffee table was the empty middle of the living room. Sometimes Sid would go to the kitchen for a drink and then when she came back, instead of walking through the wide open area to go look out the window, she’d force herself in the middle between me and the coffee table, disrupting whatever I was doing, and then walk through to get to the window, knowing I’d stop and give her scratches on the way by as well. She’d look out the window for a while and then walk back, ignoring the wide open space AGAIN and force herself in between myself and the coffee table AGAIN so she could get some more scratches AGAIN and then just wander off. Sometimes it was a little exasperating, but I laughed every single time.

***

I knew what had to be done after getting off the phone with the vet last week. Sid seemed relatively OK, yet she certainly was not. She was never going to get better. I had a hard time correlating “never getting better” and “seems relatively OK” in my head. I had to keep reminding myself we were dealing with the beginning stages of kidney failure.

I was lying in bed early this past Saturday morning, around 3 or 4 AM. I was unable to sleep, trying to make sense of all this. Sid came in the room, jumped up on the bed, came up besides me and laid down, her head using the crook of my shoulder for a pillow, something she hadn’t done in several years. In that moment, I made my peace with the decision.

***

When it was time to head to the vet to give Sidney her final rest, I expected to be sad. And I was. What I did not expect, nor was I prepared for, was for the crushing guilt that came with it. I was standing there with her leash, getting ready to go and it felt like a physical blow. I sunk to my knees and told her I was sorry and I loved her. It didn’t matter in the end. On that day there was no lessening that guilt.

Eventually we got ourselves together enough that we drove to the vet’s office. We went into a room. They put a padded blanket on the floor. We spent a few minutes before they came back and I gave the OK to give Sid the medicine to make her sleepy. When they get that they remain awake, but get sleepy and have troubles moving around. I picked her up and then we laid down on the blanket, her beside me, her chin on my right arm. My face was by her head and I petted her and talked to her. I thanked her again and told her again and again how much we loved her and what a good doggie she was. Mostly I just cried.

The vet and the assistant came back after a few minutes and I managed to get out the words “Do it.” They did and I laid there with her and after a few moments they told me “She’s gone.” I think it was the vet who briefly laid a hand on me. She’s been treating Sid for many years and I like her. A straight shooter, compassionate, and always treated us well.

I don’t know how long I laid there and bawled. The grief of losing my baby and the guilt of making the decision was a formidable tag team. But eventually I got up and made a pillow of the blanket to put under her head. I kissed her one more time. I told her I loved her one more time. And then we walked out.

***

The guilt of making the decision to end Sid’s life is lessening. It’s still pretty raw, but I know now what I knew then: I made the right decision. She was spared misery and was able to maintain her dignity until the end. On the day of though, I just couldn’t see past the sadness and guilt.

It’s old habits that get me now. I come home and I am looking for her. I wake up and my first thought is to get her some breakfast. Sitting in the living room I randomly think that Sid hasn’t been out in a while, perhaps I should go find her, rub her belly and then let her out. I keep expecting to see her underfoot when I turn around in the kitchen. These things happen and the sadness washes over me. I loved her so much.

But last night, instead of just being sad, a few times I smiled when I remembered some silly thing she did. How she used to see me and immediately roll on her back for belly rubs. How in the living room when I was sitting in the chair and scratching her back, she’d walk in little figure 8s to make sure everywhere got some scratches. It’s sad smile, but it’s better than just being sad.

In the end I just feel grateful and privileged to have known her and to have been her Dad. In a few weeks I won’t feel the sadness quite so much, just the love and the fond memories. I think she’d like that.