A Nest of Nightmares

‘Oh? Is he ill? Young dog, isn’t it?’ The vet reached out and Susie retreated, arms closing more tightly about the animal. Ellis hissed her name and she stopped and let the vet take the frightened dog from her arms. She was trembling almost as much as the animal.

‘You know,’ said the vet, looking at her kindly, ‘many problems people think are serious often aren’t, really. We can cure many diseases that . . .’

‘He’s not ill,’ Susie said. ‘We just want you to, please, put him to sleep.’

‘Kill him? But why?’

‘I really don’t think that’s any of your business,’ Ellis said coldly. ‘We’ll pay whatever it costs, of course. It’s not as if we’re asking you to do something illegal.’

The vet stiffened, and Ellis knew he had used the wrong tone of voice. ‘Not illegal, perhaps,’ said the vet. ‘But I find it immoral to kill a healthy young dog for no good reason.’

‘But we have a good reason,’ Susie protested. ‘We don’t want him to suffer. He wouldn’t be happy without us – he’d suffer if we gave him away to strangers. But if you put him to sleep – it really would be just like putting him to sleep, wouldn’t it? – he wouldn’t feel any pain, he wouldn’t know what happened.’

Ellis could see that had thawed the vet a bit. Susie’s earnest, almost child-like manner coupled with her beauty would thaw any man – until he got to know her too well.

‘If a dog is suffering, then frequently the best thing is to put it to sleep. But I’m talking about physical suffering – I doubt the anguish he’d suffer at being parted from you and your husband would be great enough to justify euthanasia. He wouldn’t be in any physical pain, and he’d soon get used to a new home and have a long life ahead of him.’

‘I think we know what’s best for our dog,’ Ellis said. ‘If you’re not willing to put him to sleep, I’m sure we can find someone who is.’

‘I doubt that,’ said Dr Blake. ‘I doubt you’ll find any reputable vet willing to kill a perfectly healthy dog.’ He stroked Gonzo’s trembling flank. ‘Look, if you can’t keep the dog, why not give him away? He seems like a nice, friendly little dog. Why don’t you let me take him? I’ll find him a good home.’

‘No. Absolutely not. We don’t want to give him away,’ Ellis said. ‘There’s no point in wasting your time – there are plenty of other vets in town.’

‘But if you can’t find one who’ll agree?’

Ellis shrugged angrily. ‘That’s ridiculous. They gas dozens of dogs down at the pound every day. It wouldn’t be as quick and painless as you could do it here, but . . .’

‘But at the pound there would be a chance of someone else finding him and giving him a good home.’

‘That’s out of the question. We don’t want anyone else to have our dog.’

Dr Blake shrugged. ‘I think you better get used to the idea. I think I can guarantee you won’t find a vet in town to go along with you. You’ll have to take your dog to the pound.’

Ellis stared at the vet. ‘If you won’t make it easy for me,’ he said quietly, ‘think of this: there’s no law that says a man can’t shoot his own dog.’

Susie whimpered. ‘Oh, he would,’ she said, gazing at the vet for help. ‘He would shoot Gonzo. Please . . . I don’t want Gonzo to suffer.’

‘All right,’ the vet said, his lips tight. ‘I’ll save your dog from that.’ Grim-faced, he put the dog on a metal table and motioned to Ellis to hold the dog still.

‘He won’t feel any pain,’ Ellis said, as the vet prepared the needle.

‘It’s better this way, for all of us,’ Susie said almost prayerfully.

They were both stroking the dog, on either side of some invisible property line, when it died.

The woman burst into tears and snatched up the body, keening over it while Ellis pulled at her arms, trying to get the body for himself.

Disgusted, the vet called in his assistant and managed to get the dog’s body away from the weeping pair. ‘City health regulations,’ he said, as the assistant carried it out to dispose of it.

Ellis looked at the vet through a glaze of pain and tears and suspected that he lied, but it didn’t matter. There was no point in fighting over the body now. Gonzo was gone.

‘Some people,’ said the vet bitterly as they turned to leave, ‘shouldn’t be allowed to have pets.’

They sat in the car; Susie weeping inconsolably, Ellis too drained to start the car. His grief had dissolved the hatred he felt for his wife. He no longer blamed her, any more than he blamed himself. The dog’s death now seemed some unavoidable, senseless tragedy, some act of God which had destroyed the life they had built together.

Susie was sobbing the dog’s name like a prayer. After a moment he joined her, weeping without shame. He forgot where they were, he forgot how Gonzo’s death had come about, he forgot how much he hated his wife, forgot everything except this immense, dreadful loss which united them. He put his arms around her and they rocked back and forth in their shared grief, their tears running together.