The dog in question is “Jenkins”, a beagle.
Jenkins lived a long life, for a beagle. We found him wandering beside a road as an abandoned puppy back in 1995. We adopted him.
He lived a long life. Now he’s old, and a bit past the expected life for a dog of his type.
I moved out years ago; my brother moved out four years later. My parents kept Jenkins. A few days ago I got a call from my tearful mother: “Jenkins hasn’t eaten in about a week. He can’t walk anymore, he just wets himself. We took him to a vet and the vet advised that we should just put him down! His liver has shut down, I don’t think we have a choice!”
I told my parents - “Man, that’s sad. Jenkins was a great dog. Pet him one last time, tell him we love him, then have him put down. I hate to think of him suffering.”
That was last Monday.
Tomorrow, of course, is Thanksgiving. That’s when both me and my brother will be home.
I was dismayed to hear that my brother had told my parents to hold off on letting Jenkins go. To be fair, he loved the dog more than I did. He wants to see Jenkins one more time before he goes. So instead of having Jenkins put to sleep on Monday, which was the vet’s advice, Jenkins must endure at least another week (unless he dies before then.)
I can’t fault my brother for wanting to see him one last time; all the same I’m a bit uneasy at letting the poor dog suffer for another week. I can’t help but think, “Jeez - let the poor dog go peacefully. He isn’t eating, he’s miserable, just let him go.”