Euthanasia and Ice Cream – Putting Your Dog to Sleep

Last year, October 2007 to be precise, our companion of 14 years, Pepino LeMutt, suffered a stroke that paralyzed his right hind leg.

The old boy refused to be picked up and cuddled, dragging himself to his bowl and to his regular spot by the front door. Pepino was your regular size Shih Tzu, stubborn to no end, and with an independent streak that was more human than canine. "C'mhere" to Pepino meant "Go the other way." At times I'd think he was pigheaded rather than stubborn.

Hard as I often tried, I could never teach him a manly thing.

After I retired from business, where I was a successful investment banker, I became a college adjunct professor of Economics. I've been teaching unruly college kids the rudiments of macro and micro-economics, and I feel confident that I have a terrific talent for teaching.

For years I've felt that Pepino had a high IQ, or above average to say the least. At times I've felt that maybe he could outthink some of my own students. Yet, though I managed to teach him many tricks, the noble beast refused to learn to raise his leg.

"Oh, well," I said to myself, "at least I convinces him not to growl, bark, sniff at our guests' crotches, and other high-intelligence tricks."

Being apartment dwellers, in the mornings we let Pepino pee in his washable pads, but in the evenings I'd take him for a long walk. We are reserve to live in Park Avenue (a lovely avenue in New York City) where one can find trees in the median. For many a day - or late afternoon or evening may be more accurate - I tried to teach Pepino to pee like a he-dog.

Repeatedly I'd lift my leg and placed it against a tree at the stop light intersection, north of our building, hoping that Pepino would ever catch on and imitate me.

To be an investment banker you must have thick skin, and I am proud to say, I do not embarrass that easily. So, I would turn a deaf ear to the taunts, jeers, indignities, and insults from cab drivers and other motorists held by the stop light, as they saw me in that ridiculous position, trying to teach the pooch how to act like a man .

Pepino never got it and ever I gave up. "No sense in changing Pepino's basic instinct - a contrarian he is!" I thought. Yet, I knew he had absorbed and internalized what I was trying to teach him, not because I'm smart but because Pepino was not a good poker player - every time he learned something he'd stick his tongue out and hold it Out for about 5 seconds.

Dr. Grossman - Pepino's regular Vet - examined my beloved pooch carefully, and as he shined a light into the old boy's pupils, he said, "Pepino is in pain and suffering." It's best for him to be put to sleep. "

Stunned by what Dr. Grossman was saying, I could hardly contain myself, fighting an inner wave of violence building within me. I remember thinking, "You insensitive, incompetent nitwit, for fourteen years we've fattened your wallet and all you got to say is 'put him to sleep'?"

But instead, I only mumbled, "Is not there something you can do-surgery? I'll pay for it!"

Grossman only looks his head meaning "No." Then he said, "I'll leave you both to talk for a moment, and grieve. It's time for Pepino to go to dog heaven."

As soon as Grossman was out the door, my wife hugged me and burst into tears. I held her close to sooth her pain, my heart thumping, and my throat voiceless.

Only twice in my life have I ever shed a tear: the first time was during the TET offensive in Vietnam, when I held one of my men --who had been mortally wounded - in my arms as he asked me to call his mom In Missouri and tell her he loved her. Being a young lieutenant in the Army, and my life still unformed, I could not contain my emotions and claimed bitter tears, cursing the war as I sobbed, the body of my man still warm in my arms.

The second time was during the Dot.Com meltdown, when - following a contrarian gut impulse - I shorted Cisco and other Dot.com stocks and made millions; A maneuver that allowed me to buy this duplex in Park Avenue. When I took my profits out, sweet tears rolled down my shoulders and I thanked Pepino rather than God. Why is this? Because I realized that I made all that money by following my instincts rather than reason or what people were saying - just like my pooch Pepino.

Dr. Grossman returned with an assistant and both of them got busy to set the cold aluminum-steel table where Pepino was to be euthanized.

Fearful that I was going to break down and cry a primal scream that I felt traveling up my spell, I asked Grossman to wait five minutes while I ran to the corner market and buy a pint of vanilla ice cream. Without waiting for a reaction I took off.

Moments later, looking into my eyes, Pepino let me know that he had enjoyed more than ever in his life his last taste of ice cream. The pooch left this bitter world with a sweet taste in his mouth.

The assistant laid Pepino on his side, and Grossman found a vein. And just as he was injecting the hemlock or whatever agent they use, Pepino lifted his left hind leg way up --just as I had shown him many times by that tree on Park Avenue-- and he peed like a he-dog.

Speechless, all I could do was cry, and cried I did for the third time in my life.

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Source by Marciano Guerrero