Rusty lay beside my chair, his golden coat dimmed but still warm beneath my hand. His breathing came unevenly, yet when I looked down, he wagged his tail with stubborn optimism, completely unaware that strangers were discussing the end of his existence as if scheduling maintenance work.
“We can make him comfortable,” the vet continued. “Many owners choose euthanasia to prevent suffering.”
The word echoed in the sterile room like something mechanical and cold. Prevent suffering. End pain. Humane decision. Clinical phrases that tried to make goodbye sound logical.
I shook my head slowly.
“No,” I said, though my voice barely emerged.
She studied me carefully. “Mr. Harper, prolonging this may not be kind.”
Kind.
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