I was at the vet with Millie today. She wasn’t sick, just needed her yearly check up and shots. We were in the waiting area when a man came in holding a dog. I think she was a cocker spaniel. I could tell she was older because she had those smoky, glazed over eyes dogs get when they’re old and don’t see too well.
As the man talked with the vet tech at the desk, it became clear the dog was being put down today. I couldn’t tell if the man was upset or not, he didn’t really show any emotion. I started petting Millie, feeling sad about the situation, and she didn’t help when she starting whimpering.

I don’t know if the vet tech was trying to not be dramatic or what, but it was a little chilling to hear her talking to the man about what he wanted done with the “remains,” and it sounded more like they were talking about leftover dinner scraps than the dog.
I wondered what was wrong with the dog. While I don’t wish suffering on her, I halfway hoped something was irreversibly wrong with her and she hadn’t just outgrown her usefulness. She was still walking fine, the eyes were the only thing that seemed “wrong.”
I think the man must’ve been a little sad. They sat down next to us and he petted her constantly. He didn’t go back with her, but I learned her name when the tech said she would take Ms. Maggie on back, and carried the dog away.
Yeah, Millie drives me bananas a lot. Yeah, she gets up during the night, eats pens on the sofa, sheds, and barks at the cat, but I love her. And I love Ms. Maggie, and every dog who’s ever been kind enough to love us humans in return.
Goodbye Ms. Maggie.