Hudson Nettles
I was confronted with death before I even realized who I am or what day it was. My foot landedon it, but I would not say that I squashed it. Rather, it toppled me and left me staggering and tender.
“Oh!” I said as I quickly removed my tippy-toe from her hind quarters. “I’m sorry, Hudson.”
I reached down to pat her on her side for forgiveness, to which she was unresponsive. I moved my hand further up to her chest…
“Oh, Bobby…” I mewled, my voicing cracking before I could continue, “I think she’s gone.”
I probably took Hudson’s death harder than he did. At least outwardly, that’s the way it would seem. I bawled. My heart twisted in my chest, between poignancy and guilt.
Before he had met me, Hudson was his everyday companion. Car rides, hunting, fishing, reading—all activities that he enjoyed with his beloved dog at his side. She wasn’t allowed on the furniture and he didn’t spoil her with people food. He trained her to respond to even whispered commands. In her prime, she fetched and jumped and vigorously played with him, his parents, and other pets. Ending each evening, she would crawl to her spot under the foot of his bed.
By the time I met her, she was very old. So old, in fact, that he had actually lost count of how many years he had had her. The going debate between him and his mother as to Hudson’s age was somewhere between thirteen and fourteen years.
I had never felt that she liked me, but I could understand why she wouldn’t. I robbed from her Bobby’s sole attention. Over ten years a bachelor and living on his own with his pets was a long time for attachment to grow. Then here comes this lady that Hudson was expected to share him with, and with her, she brought three other little attention-takers, as well as, other attention-absorbing pets.
In her last week, she was very ill. Having lost a large amount of weight, some teeth, and the energy to even eat, I sat idly by ready to assist as Bobby squirted chicken broth and water into her mouth with a child’s medicine dispenser on her last day. After he had fallen asleep, I crawled down to the floor beside her and stroked her straggly hair. She raised her head, with much effort, and I cupped it in my hands to provide her weakened neck some support. In that moment, and only that moment, I felt that she finally accepted and appreciated me. I quietly encouraged her, hoping my kind words might give her some resolve, before resting her head back on her paws and tucking myself into bed.
I stood back the next morning, tears streaming, as Bobby confirmed that she had passed in the night. I bitterly resented myself for the change I had brought upon her life. The most evident change being that as she died, she wanted nothing more than to crawl into her spot at the foot of his bed… but she couldn’t because of the boxes I now stored there. She still tried, in her weakened state, and ended her life with only her nose under her beloved master’s bed.
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