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    “It’s packed in there,” he said with that not-wanting-to-be-inconvenienced face and tone.  She knew it well.
    “He loves the waiting room with all the other animals.  That’s his favorite part.  Seeing the vet is the part he doesn’t like.”  She knew she’d feel guilty if she didn’t advocate for the dog.  It was his last hour or two of living.  She loved the dog in the way you love someone as part of your being, not only when it is convenient.  “I don’t want to go in just when it’s time to take him straight to the back.”

    “There are five of us, and there are no empty seats in there,” he said. 
    It is the beloved dog’s final hour, and this man still acts like it’s all about him, she thought.  The degree of selfishness chilled her.  That she had once settled for that saddened and disgusted her.  Their son’s pain and rage deeply worried her.

    “I’ve been in there with him when it was really packed and there was hardly any standing room left, like the subway.  There’s space in there.  It’s raining.  He doesn’t like the rain.” 
    She knew, if they argued, their adult son would get upset and aim it at her, so she once again was walking this delicate line.  She considered taking the dog inside anyway with her best friend, but the son wanted to be with the dog and needed his father, the father needed his newest wife, so it would mean five of them.  Though she was putting the dog’s comfort before anyone’s, she generally gets called selfish by the narcissist and portrayed that way by him to those with whom he still has influence.  (Selfish - adjective: not doing what the narcissist wants.) 

    After a while of staying outside, she looked at the time, and it was 11:29.
    “They estimated 11:30.  It’s time.”  She opened the door and walked in with the dog.  The others followed.  The first to greet the dog was a six-month old Dalmatian who was all into playing and jumping and had no problem with getting her rear sniffed. 

    A seat opened and the newest wife sat.  She only speaks Spanish and was able to talk with a woman next to her.  Then two seats became available which were offered to the narcissist and the son.  She stood near them, so she could be with the dog, who wanted Mommy.  Then the dog got a little excited over a female German shepherd on the other side of him.  He had a little pelvic motion going on. 
    Though she felt her PTSD kicking in, she smiled that her dog was able to sniff a Dalmatian’s butt and get a little humpy over a German shepherd in his final moments.  That’s way more his style.  And that is her kind of selfish.




  2. 6 comments:

    1. Well told. I am so sorry you lost Luigi Mindy. I know he was family to you - I know what is to lose a dog. You tell the story of his final trip with candor that sheds light on the story of your whole family. Why not expand it just a little, into a short story?

    2. Lisa Harmon said...

      Mindy so sorry for your loss! They love us like crazy and they're so innocent! Sorry.

    3. Melinda said...

      May you find some comfort in knowing that Luigi will live on forever, in your mind, in your heart and in your very spirit. Play dates will never end. Keep your spiritual senses open and you will see him again...and again. Until, he is at peace knowing you are at peace. BIG HUG HON!

    4. Unknown said...

      Wishing you deep peace of mind and comfort . It is obvious that you gave darling Luigi the best love and care possible under the challenging circumstances.

    5. I love that each of you left your comment. Thank you.

    6. Unknown said...

      I really enjoyed reading this article! I have just launched a book on The Dalmatian dog care, here is the link

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