Bittersweet Bells

BITTERSWEET BELLS

“Like sweet bells jangled out of time, and harsh.”  Hamlet

First sound he heard, as always, was the clink of metal tags on her collar.  Then she stood beside him at the open hatchback, waiting for help. Time was this still-beautiful German Shepard would have leaped past him, but that was before dysplasia had eroded her hips.   Derek struggled to lift her 50 or so pounds up and in, pressing his face into the familiar musk of her thick fur.  She scrambled in, the tags jingling, then settled with her usual patient sigh.

 When Derek parked, she pushed to her feet and her eyes followed him as he walked around the car.  Her ears drooped a bit and she tightened slightly when she recognized the veterinary clinic.  Still, she walked beside him through the door, claws clicking on linoleum, her leash a mere formality required by veterinary rules. Derek stepped up to the receptionist.  His voice nearly broke as he gave Lydia’s name, and he  barely heard the soft reply. 

Lydia sat restless beside him in the waiting room, sniffing the medicinal air, watching two other dogs, shifting from side to side.   She let Derek lead her back to the stark white and chrome examination room, though she moved more slowly than could be explained by her hips alone. 

With the vet’s help Derek lifted her onto the table.  Once again he noticed its slickness and sharp edges, but realized it didn't matter much now, and soon wouldn’t matter at all.  He coaxed her to lie down, stood before her, one hand on each shoulder, lightly bunching the soft flesh.  His grip was firm but gentle.  He accepted the vet’s offer of a few minutes alone, but found nothing new to say.  He buried his face in that familiar fur, and absorbed the smell he knew so well.  He told her he loved her and would never forget her, empty words but kind and true, trying to reassure them both, speaking not only to quiet her, but also to blunt the sharp edge of his awareness.  He stepped back, and she moved to watch him, those trusting eyes so dark and brown and deep, tags jingling as she turned her head.

The door clicked open and the vet walked in. Derek held her as the vet shaved a spot on her front leg and tied a rubber tube below the spot.  When the vet took hold of her paw, Derek hugged more tightly than she probably liked, but she didn’t complain.  She never had.  With quick professional tact the vet slid the needle in and pressed the plunger.  Lydia winced, then relaxed, breathed slowly, slower, stopped.    Derek stroked her head, from the top and around one ear, then dropped his hand to his side. He turned to leave, but the vet called him, softly, holding Lydia’s collar, which trembled when Derek took it in his unsteady hand, making a soft irregular jingle. Derek clenched the collar, held the tags tight in his fist. In time he would want to hear those bells again. Not now. Not yet.