I’m sorry you died dirty.
It was the first time a dog had made me cry.
I was surprised, but at the same time, I understood why.
This dog died dirty and that did not sit right with me.

She came in after her owner noticed her cyst had burst.
She’d probably had to sit in her own filth for hours.
The smell was awful, and the doctor asked if I would hold
her on the table. The procedure was supposed to be quick.
Everyone knew she wasn’t going to make it, all that was left
to do was to give her the last shot she’d ever receive.

But the doctor got busy, several walk ins came at the same time.
An emergency c-section took over all operations 
and I sat there with the dirty dog.

I once watched a doctor put a needle into a puppy’s chest.
He had only been a couple weeks old and the signs of parvo
were evident. The needle struck straight into the heart—
we knew because blood entered the tube.
One plunge of the syringe and the medicine ran its course.
I watched as the doctor let go of the needle, 
waiting for it to stop bouncing with each beating of the heart.
When it stopped, the puppy was dead.

I didn’t cry that day, I was sad, but I didn’t cry.
But goddammit if the dirty dog didn’t run my heart over with spiked tires.  
She had to wait, with my arms around her, dirty and groaning with pain,
all for a needle that would end it all.

I wanted so badly to wash her, make her feel better before she died,
but she was heavy, I couldn’t lift her on my own,
and the doctor had told me to wait.
There was nothing we could do, we couldn’t even clean her, 
and we sure as hell couldn’t offer her a better wait time.

It just didn’t feel right—
making the dirty dog wait for an appointment to die.

I burst into tears while taking her to the freezer.
I kept mumbling, 
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry you had to die dirty.
I’m so sorry you had to die dirty. You should not have died dirty.” 

I was never even told the dog’s name, 
but I will never forget the smell, the dullness in her eyes, 
or the gentle nudge that she gave me just before
the doctor pushed in the needle, 
as if I was the one that deserved to be comforted.