My mother called me yesterday with some sad news, “Dallas has rental failure.”
Dallas wasn’t keeping things down on Sunday and when they took him to the vet they gave the verdict. There was an option to keep little Dallas alive on dialysis, but the general consensus within our family was that he shouldn’t have to suffer. My brother, who brought Dallas home as a pup and slept beside him at night, said that an old housemate of his had a cat who went into rental failure and his friend fought tooth and nail to keep it alive. In the end, he said, it became messy and emotional – something he didn’t want to put anyone through; especially sweet, old Dallas.
My mother, who isn’t a lady who keeps her heart on her sleeve, began to lose her composure on the phone to me. Then, of course, I lost mine – I can’t bare to think of anyone upset or suffering.
After I got off the phone I couldn’t help but want to be by Dallas’ side as he was put to sleep. It must be a terrifying thing to be in a place you don’t recognise, with people you don’t know, and I wished I could have held his little head and look into his eyes and thank him for being with our family.
It is going to be a lot different now when my brother and I visit my parent’s farm. There’ll be no happy face to greet us in the yard, no wagging tails, and no one barking at us to throw the ball one last time. My father, who frequently roams the paddocks, will now have to do so alone.
Dallas was 13 years old, so I’m happy he lived to be a wise pup. Such a sweet, caring nature, he was always happy to hang out with you in the shade during summer. If you told him to heel, he would. The only thing he loved more than a big, old pat and cuddle was a tennis ball.
Bye, Dallas. We love you.