Poppet

The End

SUKI’S BREATHING SLOWS. The rapid in and out – the frantic panting of the last few hours – deflates into something slow and thoughtful. A measured surrender. To Penny this is the first sign that the end really is coming. It’s going to be soon.

She looks at her watch. Five o’clock. Evening. So it will be evening when Suki goes. It can’t be much longer. She hitches up the duvet which makes a tent over her and Suki – here on the floor in the office where Suki lies curled on the tatty old bed that she has had for fifteen years – ever since she was a tiny puppy. Penny has been here all last night and today. She’s not tired, not sleepy. Not at all.

‘Don’t be scared, Suki.’ She strokes her face. ‘Don’t be scared. I promise there’s nothing to be scared of.’

Suki takes another breath. Almost pensive. She lets it out. Penny rests her hand on Suki’s ribcage – very lightly, because the skeleton is so tiny, so feeble. It seems a ridiculous insult to expect it to rise one more time. This little old dog – small and shrunken as a walnut. Even as a youngster Suki was tiny. Not a proper breeder’s dog – she was a rescue puppy, a cute hairy-faced mutt. All her life no one has ever noticed or paid attention to Suki – not the way they’d whoop and ooh over the glamorous red setters and Weimaraners. Of course, Suki has never minded. She’s always been content to trot along next to Penny, quite happy with the world and the way it was. No one is really going to notice when she’s gone. Only Penny.

Another breath comes. A slow release. Penny watches the ribcage – expecting another.

She waits, and she waits.

‘Suki?’

No response.

‘Suki? Is that it?’

Her chest doesn’t move. Penny presses her hands into it, her fingertips gently searching between the ribs for the last flutter of heartbeat. Nothing. The little dog’s chin is down and the whiskers around her mouth are curled and brown where they touch her front leg.

‘Suki?’

Penny looks at her watch again. Five minutes go by. Then another five. She makes herself count the seconds out in her head. All the way to a hundred and eighty. Three more minutes. Nothing, no one, can exist without breathing for this long. It is definitely the end.

‘OK.’ She rocks back on her heels. ‘OK.’

She cries. Just a little, and has to hold up her sleeve to soak up the tears. There’d be more, but the heavy ones passed through yesterday morning, when the vet told her the end was coming.

‘I’m picking you up now.’ After a long time she bends at the waist and lifts Suki up on to her lap. The dog doesn’t move or resist. Her legs flop down. She weighs nothing – no more than a small wicker basket. Penny hunches down, puts her face against the old muzzle. Rocks her. ‘It’s all right, my girl. It’s OK. You’ve been so good. Such a good girl. Thank you,’ she tells her. ‘Thank you so so much. For everything.’