Today, I took Tok to the local vet for his final round of shots and to set up his "fixin' " visit. While there, Exam Room 1 was giving off some weird vibes as Tok and I took up roost on a waiting room bench. He start whining, almost to the point of howling, and started to shed, profusely. He was stressed, big time.
As the minutes ticked by, people started to show up, asking for Danielle, and the receptionists pointed to Exam 1. Each time the door opened, Tok whined, loudly. When Danielle emerged, tearfully and visibly broken, she came and sat on the bench adjacent to us, put her head in her hands, and wept. Tok eased over, licking her hand, sniffing the collar in her palm. It read: Lily.
Danielle's 18 mo old pit bull had liver disease and had lost her fight for life. Following Tok's lead, I scooted over to the next bench, put my arm around this complete stranger and just held her. Tok sat at our feet, trying to nuzzle in, too. Admittedly, tears poured from my eyes as her sobs grew heavier. When you relax in the comfort of others, the emotions let loose. We finished the box of tissues, and the receptionist came to our aid with a roll of TP.
Danielle's arm stretched out for the TP and then rested on Tok. He brought her comfort as she stroked his soft fuzz. A few moments later, her dad and the doctor emerged. "She went quietly, and she is in a better place now."
Even my heart felt ripped out at the reality of those two sentences. As I looked down at Tok's masked face, I could not imagine having to let go of him so soon. I wept with the family, gave this complete stranger a hug as she mumbled thanks. Her dad put his arm around her to practically carry her from the waiting room; as he did, he turned back to me and just nodded. No words. Just a gesture.
Dogs are so intuitive, and humans are just as emotional, just in a different way.