It’s 1:21 am on Christmas morning and my cell phone is ringing, waking me up from my sugar-plum-filled slumber. I look at my phone and it’s my most recent former submissive (the red headed hair stylist from Fullerton). We’ve kept in touch since the split and, in fact, she still does my hair. My first thought is, “Am I seriously getting booty called on Christmas morning?” I answer the phone and I can immediately tell that something is wrong. Her voice cracks on the other end of the line, “I need your help.” Now my brain starts conjuring up thoughts that she’s been stranded at some booty call’s place and she’s calling me for a rescue ride. “What’s the matter?”, I ask. She continues, “I need you to kill…” Fuck, what? Now my brain goes to a darker place. Someone’s done something very bad to her and she’s calling to ask me to exact her revenge. “Whoa, what the fuck is going on? You’re freaking me out.” Her reply is delayed and spacey, “I need you to kill…my dog.”
Her dog is best described by her as a BBBB: a big beautiful beagle bitch. A beagle should weigh somewhere in the neighborhood of 25 pounds, but she had managed to love her dog into morbid obesity and the sweet old bitch weighed approximately 65 pounds. The dog was about 12 years old and in failing health. Her quality of life was deteriorating and we knew the time was getting close to when she’d need to be euthanized. I even told my ex that I’d be there for her when that time came, because I loved that dog too. My ex proceeded to tell me that she had looked into euthanasia and that it would cost over $300 which she couldn’t afford, so she had given the dog a bunch of Benadryl in the hopes of instigating a DIY at-home euthanasia. The effects of said Benadryl had only made the dog perk up and be more hyper than usual. My ex then told me that she tried to smother the dog, but couldn’t complete the task. I know it sounds terrible, but people sometimes do desperate things in the name of mercy. I know how much she loved that dog and I am positive that she was only doing what she thought was a merciful thing. She said, “I just want her to go quickly so I can bury her in the backyard. Can you please come over and kill her?” Jumping Jesus on a pogo stick! I told her that I’d call her back in a few minutes and I quickly started Googling “DIY euthanasia”. As I’m searching, I’m thinking that if any of my relatives turn up dead, I’m going down for sure; the circumstantial evidence of that Google search would do me in. My mind is racing as I wonder how many of her neighbors would wake up to the sound of a single gun shot (for the dog, just to clarify). Then, cooler heads prevailed and I decided to see if there were any 24-hour pet hospitals open on Christmas morning. To my surprise, there was exactly one location open within a 30 mile radius. I called and they told me that a euthanasia is, in fact, about $300 if you want the animal cremated and the cremains returned to you. “How much if we take the body with us?”, I ask. The reply is, “$137”. I can swing that. I call my ex back and tell her that I’ll pay for the euthanasia and she can pay me back in haircuts.
It’s now 2:06 am on Christmas morning and I’m in my car driving 25 minutes to my ex’s place. A light rain is sprinkling as Boston’s “Peace of Mind” plays on my radio and I’m thinking to myself, “Fuck, this is surreal and it’s going to make a pretty good blog topic.” I arrive at her place and we put the dog in her car. I get in the driver’s seat and we head to the pet hospital which is 15 minutes away. We arrive, fill out the necessary forms, and they take the dog in for a quick evaluation. My ex is terrified that they’ll find out she gave the dog a bunch of Benadryl and I assure her that they’re not doing a drug screen. They bring the dog into an exam room on a rolling table and they give us as much time as we want with her. My ex has chosen not to be present when they administer the euthanasia drugs. We spend time with the BBBB, petting her, loving her, crying, and my ex apologizes, “I’m sorry I tried to kill you earlier. Thank you for being my best friend.” After the staff takes the dog and does what we went there for, they bring the body out on the same rolling table. They help us to the car and help to lay her gently in the back seat on a blanket that we had brought with us. She’s still warm and soft. I wrap the blanket around her and cover her face.
On the drive home, I ask my ex if she called me because I’m reliable or because she thought I was enough of a sociopath that I’d actually just come and kill her dog. “A little of both.”, was her reply.
At 3:02 am on Christmas morning, I pull up to my ex’s place with her in the passenger seat and her dead dog in the back seat. I carry 65 pounds of dead weight beagle up a flight of stairs into my ex’s backyard and then up the slope of her backyard which is on a hill. She retrieves a shovel and some gloves out of her garage. It’s cold as I take off my jacket and I can see my breath as I break into the dirt. I dig a grave and I no longer have to wonder why murderers always dig a grave that’s too shallow; that shit is hard work. Sweat drips down my nose as she and I lower the dog down into the cold earth and place her gently in her final resting place. I made sure that her head was straight and that she wasn’t bent awkwardly. My ex kissed the dog and I waited for her to sprinkle the first bit of dirt before proceeding to shovel in the rest.
I didn’t want to leave her alone and sobbing, so I stayed and held her as we fell asleep. I woke up a few hours later so I could go home and get ready to spend Christmas morning with my family. As I quietly left her place, I walked up to the grave site just to say one last goodbye and I snapped a photo. A week later, I found myself wondering how the dog was doing under all of that dirt. I hope she was comfortable and I hope she knew that she was loved. Goodnight, Hemi, you big beautiful beagle bitch.