Dog Whisperer by Nicholas Edwards Page B

too.
    Linda, the other vet technician, came out and gestured for them to follow her into a small examining room in the back. The lights had been turned low, and the dog was lying on his side on top of some thick towels, on a metal examining table. His
eyes were closed, and he was hooked up to an IV and various other tubes.
    The first thing Emily noticed was that, for such a big dog, he looked very small now. He was covered with bandages, and stitches, and there were lots of bare patches where his fur had been shaved. His skin was almost pink under the white fur, which surprised her, for some reason. There was also a large cast on his left front leg.
    Looking at him, Emily understood why the hard decision was the right one. The dog was frail and weak, and barely seemed to be breathing at all.
    Dr. Kasanofsky put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m very sorry. He was just too badly hurt.”
    Emily nodded. She wouldn’t have said that she was crying, but she could feel tears running down her cheeks. “Is he in pain?” she asked.
    Dr. Kasanofsky shook his head. “No. I don’t think he can really feel anything at all now. He’s just very, very tired.”
    Someone—she wasn’t sure who—handed her some Kleenex, and she wiped her eyes. “C-can I say good-bye?”
    â€œOf course,” Dr. Kasanofsky said. “Why don’t the three of you spend some time with him? Take as long as you need.”

    With that, he and the two vet technicians left the room, closing the door behind them.
    Once they were by themselves, all three of them cried, and her parents took turns hugging her.
    â€œI’m really sorry,” her father said. “I wish there was something I could say to help.”
    Her mother gave her some more Kleenex, which Emily gratefully accepted. “I know,” she said. “I just—I was sure he was going to be okay.” She had felt it.
    There really wasn’t anything else to say, so they all just stood there next to the examining table.
    â€œCould I be alone with him?” Emily asked.
    â€œJust, you know, for a minute?”
    Her parents exchanged glances, and then nodded.
    â€œWe’ll be right outside if you need us,” her mother said.
    Once they were gone, Emily looked miserably at the dog. He hadn’t moved once, in the entire time they had been in here. As awful as it was to admit, he looked as though he was already gone. She had never really thought about life, and death, in a serious way, and what it all meant. Staring at the dog—at Zack —she wondered if he knew she was there, or if he was too far away from them now.

    â€œI named you,” she said softly. “That’ll seem dumb, but I thought you needed a name. I mean, I know you can’t hear me, but I wanted you to know that you belonged to someone.” Now she was crying again, and it was hard to speak. “That you weren’t by yourself. And that you were brave .”
    She didn’t know if she was allowed to touch him, but if she was careful, she was pretty sure that she wouldn’t make things worse than they already were.
    She started to reach her hand out, but then hesitated. Would he feel cold? And stiff? And—well—not alive?
    For a minute, she was afraid to find out, but almost as quickly, she was ashamed that she had even thought something like that. Her parents were right—none of this was about her, it was about the dog. About Zack .
    She walked around to the other side of the table, so that she would be behind him. That way, she could pat his head with her right hand and drape her left arm over his chest and shoulder. It wouldn’t quite be a hug, but it would be close.
    She bent over him, sliding her hand underneath his head, so it would be sort of like a pillow.
    â€œYou are such a good boy,” she whispered into his ear. “I’m really sorry I never got to do dog stuff
with you. I could have