a rift

This is a photo of my friend, Apollo, back from when he was still a happy, healthy doggy. A gift from my parents for my young whiny kid self, he was there for me for the past 17 years.

Even though his full name was indeed Apollo, no one really called him that (save for the vet); for me, my family and friends he was Polo, Polek, Poldek, or Apoloniusz if someone was feeling particularly snarky.

Due to a spine defect, his health started to decline gradually around 5 years ago and he had to be on heavy medication ever since (which included a monthly steroid injection). Along the way, some other minor ailments started to show up and even though he was a tough guy and always managed to pull through any treatment, all of that pitched in and, combined with his old age, delivered a final blow that dwindled down his condition in the past 2 weeks when his body started to refuse any kind of meds. He had barely any muscle left on him, he was literally skin and bone, he couldn’t really walk anymore (he’d constantly fall over, and call for someone to pick him up because he was unable to), he couldn’t see, he could barely hear, and food - the only real pleasure he had left for a few months (to everyone’s surprise he never lost his appetite) - could no longer be digested properly which caused him further discomfort. It was time to let him go.

I knew for a while that the time to say goodbye to him was drawing near - I vowed to myself that I wouldn’t let him suffer but I also humoured the thought that once the time came the decision would be easier to make.
It wasn’t easy at all. In fact, it was a lot harder and painful than I ever imagined it would be. My aunt and uncle let me bury him in their orchard (where me and Polek used to run around like a pair of morons when we were young), right beside their dog who I used to play with as a little girl, so I take some comfort in that at least he has good company and stayed on familial soil. I’m grateful that the last day we had together was one of his rare “good” days, and I’m glad that he doesn’t suffer anymore and won’t suffer ever again. I could never express my gratitude that I was blessed with his companionship for as along as I did and that, in the end, I could be there for him.

I’m just selfishly scared that the most vivid memory I will ever have of him will always be feeling his body becoming limp in my arms, and then seeing him gradually disappear under shovel fulls of dirt.