I felt my stomach turn over and thought I might be sick.
“Yes—she did pant, but we always thought she just didn’t like warm weather,” I said shakily.
“When dogs aren’t getting enough oxygen, they will frequently pant,” the vet said, as if it were consoling information.
I thought of all the times I’d carried Pen home when she’d grown tired on a walk, but in a million years, it never came into my mind that she had a weak heart. Not Pen, who was always there, my strength, my rock. Not Penny, who had my heart, who carried it with her now and forever.
I tried to find words to ask the questions I would one day need answered.
“Was there something we could have done for her?” I said, my ears ringing so loudly I could barely hear my own words.
“Well, there are heart medicines, but I can’t say they would have significantly prolonged her life. It’s likely she lived as long as she could until her heart failed.”
My hands were clammy, and when I clasped them hard, digging my nails into my palms, I had no sensation. “Would that be quick?”
“Oh, yes, split second. Like going to sleep, lights on, lights off, just like that,” he said sympathetically. “She probably didn’t feel a thing.”
Lights on. Lights off. Lights on. Lights off. Lights off.
“If you want to know exactly what happened, I can—”
“No,” I interrupted. “I don’t want her touched.”
The doctor looked startled.
“I’m sorry, I—” I began to say.
“No need to apologize, but do you need to sit down? Or some water?”
“What do we do now?” I asked, knowing I would puke up even water.
“If you want her ashes, we will give her a private ceremony,” he said, sounding professional again.
“I—yes, I want her ashes.”
“What does that mean, a private ceremony?” Eddie asked, speaking up for the first time in the exam room.
“It means she will be cremated alone, not with other pets.”
I closed my eyes and felt my stomach turn over. When I opened them, Eddie was handing me a wet paper towel.
“Thank you,” I said, wiping my face.
“Would you like to take the blanket?” the doctor asked.
“No!” I said too sharply. “I mean, no, I want it to keep her warm. I want it to stay with her.”
“I’ll give you time to say your goodbyes,” the vet said, leaving us.
Ian and Maddy moved toward the table together, each of them placing their hands on Pen’s back.
“We love you, little one,” Madison choked out. “We love you, Pen-Pen.” They were both crying as they left the room to wait in the car.
“I can’t do it,” I said desperately to Eddie. “I can’t—I can’t say it. I can’t say goodbye. I can’t do it.”
“Then don’t,” he said, putting his arms around me. “You don’t have to say it.”
“I don’t want to leave her,” I said desperately, crying into his shoulder.
“Sweetie, she’s already gone. This isn’t Penny anymore. It’s just her shell.”
She’s already gone, I thought, and that was the most terrible of all truths. She was gone. I didn’t know if she had a choice, or if the choice was made for her, I didn’t know anything about how the universe worked—all I knew was that she would never have willingly left me. She had been taken from me. I was enraged. I felt robbed of something most precious to me. I would have given anything I could to have her back, to cuddle her even one last time, to look into her wise, dark eyes and thank her for saving my life every day.
I felt dizzy when I lifted my head from Eddie’s chest. He steadied me as I leaned down to Penny and pulled the blanket a little away from the back of her neck. I touched her smooth hair where it was neatly groomed in layers like I’d worn my own hair in high school. When her hair grew out, we’d always called her a sheep dog, but now it would never grow out again.
“You’re my baby,” I whispered. “You will always be my baby girl. I will always love you. You will be in my heart forever.”
I tucked the blanket carefully back around her the way I used to swaddle the kids when they were infants.
“I don’t want to leave her,” I said shakily.
“Honey, Ian and Maddy need you now,” Eddie said. “They need their mother.”
Being their mother was the only thing that got me out of that room and away from Penny. It was the only thing keeping me breathing. It felt like the only thing left.
When I got to the car, I saw Ian and Maddy in the back seat. Ian had his arm around his sister and she was crying hard into his chest. Eddie got out of the car to hug me when he dropped us off. The kids stumbled up the stairs of the front porch and went inside.
“You’re going to be OK—not right now, but soon,” Eddie said, breathing into my hair. “It will get better with time.”
“I don’t want time to pass!” I said angrily, pulling away from him. “I don’t want to forget what she was like, what we did together, how much I love her. I saw her this morning! I don’t want to think about time going by until I haven’t seen her for months. I can’t handle that. I can’t.”
Eddie took my hands in his. “I’m so sorry, honey. So sorry. Wherever she is now, her heart is strong and she is running in the sun. She would hate to see you suffer like this.”
“All right,” I said before turning away and going inside my house.
It was unthinkable that I would sleep in my bed without Penny. Madison made up the living room couch with sheets and blankets and pillows.
“I’m staying over,” Maddy said.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice cracking. “But I only have one couch.”
“Ian’s got it all figured out.”
Ian lugged
