Emily stayed on the rock, in the rain, for a long time, lost
in thought.
“I thought you might want this,” a voice said. Emily looked up to see that her mother had come outside and was holding her yellow slicker. “No, thanks,” she said. “I'm okay.”
Normally, her mother would have told her to put it on, anyway, but she just nodded and set the coat down on one of the other rocks.
“Your father just called, and he'll be back in a few minutes,” she said. “You didn't have any breakfast, so I want you to try and eat a decent lunch, okay?”
She wasn't at all hungry, but Emily nodded.
Her mother nodded, too, and climbed up effortlessly to sit next to her on the rock. The rain was still coming down pretty hard, and they both watched as a small lobster boat chugged across the water, stopping every so often at a brightly-marked buoy so
that the man and the woman in the boat could check their traps and set out a few new ones.
“Do you think he hurts?” Emily asked, after a while.
Her mother shook her head. “No. They're giving him medicine to help him sleep, and to make sure he isn't in any pain.”
Did animals take things like aspirin or Tylenol? Or did they have special medications? Since he'd been having surgery, though, he might not even be awake yet. For a second, it occurred to her that he might never wake up
at all
, but she wasn't going to let herself think about that.
“No matter what happens,” her mother said,
“you did the right thing by trying to save him. I'm very proud of you.”
That was a nice compliment, and Emily nodded, a little bit shyly. “All I did was go outside.”
“Well,” her mother lifted an eyebrow, “according to your father, you did considerably
more
than that.”
Emily checked her expression to see how much trouble she might be in, before answering. “I didn't plan it. It just, you know,
happened
.”
Her mother nodded.
“Dad was really mad at me,” Emily said.
“No, your father was afraid you might get hurt,” her mother corrected her. “There's a big difference.”
“I
had
to jump in,” Emily said defensively. “Are you going to yell at me about it, too?”
Actually, her parents almost never yelledâat anyone, or about anything. Mostly, they liked to be very calm and reasonable, and
discuss
things. At length. Sometimes, they had really, really
long
discussionsâlike, for several hoursâand once, during a lengthy debate that had sounded a whole lot more like an actual
argument
, her father had even put a kitchen timer on the table to force her mother to wind down a little more efficiently.
“Not today,” her mother said, but then she looked at her sharply. “I know you're an excellent swimmer, but that water can be very dangerous, especially during a thunderstorm.”
The currents were often so strong, and the part of the sound in front of their house was so deep, that when she wanted to go swimming, her parents drove down to the beach or took her over to the pools at the college. And if she was ever on a boat of any kind, she
always
wore a life jacket.
“So, from now on, I need for you to remember to be much more careful,” her mother said.
Emily nodded. Her parents worried
a lot
about
her, and she didn't know if all parents were like that, or whether hers were particularly anxious. She kind of thought that because her parents had been a little bit older when they adopted her, they spent more time worrying than her friends' parents did. Being an only child probably had a lot to do with it, too.
Out in the water, the people in the lobster boat had hauled up another trap. Emily and her mother watched as the man and woman tossed back the lobsters that were too small, collected the ones that were of legal size, and then re-baited the trap and dropped it back into the sea.
“Is it selfish to want them to keep trying?” Emily asked.
Her mother paused to think about that. Unlike her father, who always had
definite
opinions and rarely changed his mind, her mother's fields were political science and constitutional law, and so she was inclined to see both sides of
everything
. “No, not at this point,” she said finally. “But, even though I know it's awful, we're going to have to prepare ourselves for what we might have to do.”
Emily nodded, feeling an immediate lump in her throat. She had only been about six when their seventeen-year-old cat, Wilbur, had had to be put to sleep, and all she remembered was that her parents
came home with an empty carrier, and that her mother had gone into her room and cried straight through dinner. It had been really sad, and after a while, Emily had gone in there and cried, too, both of them cuddled under a thick quilt.
They sat there, in the rain.
“He should have a name,” Emily said quietly.
Her mother glanced over.
“If something bad happens, he should have a name and know that people loved him.” Just saying the words brought tears to her eyes, and Emily wiped them on her already very wet sleeve.
“Okay,” her mother said, and put her arm around her. “What's his name?”
Emily didn't even have to think. “Zack.” The name just felt right.
Her mother looked a little surprised by how quickly she had come up with it. “Just Zack?”
“Zachary,” Emily said. “But Zack for a nickname.”
“All right, then,” her mother said, and tightened her arm around her shoulders. “Zack it is.”
Â
When they saw her father pulling into the parking lot,
Emily jumped down off the rock, landing upright in a puddle with a small splash.
Her father had brought back enough sandwiches, chips, and drinks for everyone who worked in the vet's office, too. Emily still wasn't at all hungry, but to keep her mother from looking so worried, she ate an egg salad sandwich and a little bag of potato chips, and had some orange juice, too.
Then, once all of the food and drinks were gone, it was back to waiting. The only news they had gotten at all was when Gary, one of the techs, came out and told them that the dogâZack!âwas back in surgery. Other than that, they just waited.
None of them talked much, but she was glad that her parents were both there to keep her company. Every minute seemed to last an hour, and every hour seemed to last a
century
. The office officially closed for the day at six o'clock, but they were allowed to stay and keep waiting.
It was just after seven when Dr. Kasanofsky came out of the back room. Even though he hadn't said anything yet, he was walking so slowly that Emily knew the answer before he even spoke.
“I'm very sorry,” he said. “I think it's time.”
Emily knew that she had to be brave, but it was hard. If
their vet was telling them it was time, it was
time
. So she just nodded, and rubbed her hand across her eyes, and pretended to listen while her parents and Dr. Kasanofsky talked. She didn't really want to know the details; all that mattered was that they were going to have to put her dog to sleep.
“Can we see him?” she asked.
“Of course,” Dr. Kasanofsky said. “Let me just go in the back for a minute, and then the three of you can join me.”
While they were waiting, Emily cried a little, and her parents hugged her. They both looked close to tears, 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.”
Someoneâshe wasn't sure whoâhanded her some Kleenex, and she wiped her eyes. “C-can I say good-bye?”
“Of 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.
“I'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 justâI 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.
“Could I be alone with him?” Emily asked.
“Just, you know, for a minute?”
Her parents exchanged glances, and then nodded.
“We'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 dogâat
Zack
âshe wondered if he knew she was there, or if he was too far away from them now.
“I 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? Andâwellânot 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 rightânone 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.
“You 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 thrown you sticks, and tennis balls, and given you food under the table when my parents weren't looking, andâwell, anything you wanted.”
It felt almost as though he had moved a little, responding to her voice, but she knew that was just wishful thinking.
“I would have taken
really
good care of you, Zack,” she said. “We would have gotten you your own red bowlâ” Unless, maybe, he didn't
like
red? “Or maybe a blue bowl. A blue bowl would have been good. Not one of those, you know, stainless steel ones.”
She waited, to see if he might move, but he just lay there with his eyes closed.
“We would have gone for lots of walks,” she said. “All around town. And you'd get to ride in the car, and stick your nose out the window, and all of that good stuff. I would have been the best owner I could.” No, that didn't sound right. “I mean, I would have been the best
friend
I could be.”
She wondered, then, whether she had been in here too long, and if her parents and Dr. Kasanofsky were going to come in soon?
“You're
so
good,” she whispered, and then hugged him as well as she could, being careful not
to dislodge any of the tubes or bandages. “I'll always,
always
remember you.”
Okay. Now it really was time.
She gave him a small kiss on the head, and then straightened up. It would be too hard to look at him again, so she kept her head down as she went over to the door.
As she started to turn the doorknob, she thought she heard a sigh behind her. It sounded like that, anyway. But, when she peeked back for a second, he was still lying in the same position, so it must have been her imagination.
Then, she heard the sound again.
Only this time, it wasâclearly, distinctly,
unmistakably
âa very small
woof
.