Farewell to Sugar - by Emily Ho

That morning, I had watched the clock on our wall since 10:30, nearly an hour before the veterinarian had promised to arrive. To me, each tick of passing time sounded like a fire alarm. Although I sensed an emergency, any fire-alarm warning calls for running away to safety, but in this case I felt compelled to stay with Sugar, our aging and ailing dog.

Finally going outside, I told my partner, "Time to bring Sugar inside, Gary." He had taken the dog outdoors for some sunlight and fresh air.

Seldom does Gary do things in a timely manner, which always irritates me, but this time I behaved patiently. "It must be a bit too hot for her," I said softly. Never argue in front of your "children", especially during final moments together. Certainly, I understood why Gary wanted to linger outside with Sugar.

Before returning into our home, we took Sugar one last time "to do her business", as we called her bodily functions. Recently she had struggled with those, but she seldom used diapers, even if we placed them on her, because she disliked the resulting wetness.

"Good girl, Sugar." I always praised our dog for producing "normal" feces indicative of healthy digestion. Sugar’s final "poo", quite a big one, caused her to whimper in discomfort, which may have been my fault for giving her extra portions of her favourite food that morning. Still, she appeared to understand the need to clean herself up before the vet’s arrival. I knew that she preferred not to dirty her comfy mat when getting "the jab". She remained a very considerate girl to the end.

Gary carried Sugar inside and placed her on the soft, round mat. Having been her personal "interpreter" for years, I knew that she felt thirsty, and so I hurried to give her water.

Special communications had developed between Sugar and me. Probably I made 99-per-cent-correct "interpretations" for her, especially once she had aged and seldom conveyed her wishes or emotions by barking.

Soon Gary handed me two pieces of beef snacks for Sugar. She ate the first one with her head up, but lowered her head when I fed her the second one. She slowly chewed it as if wishing to enjoy every molecule.

With Sugar’s eyes half-closing, she showed her signature "smile", an expression with her mouth slightly open and wrinkles formed around it. Gradually, she napped as usual after being well fed and tiring easily. Despite qualifying as an extremely old lady in the dog world, she looked almost as content as a baby well fed by its mother.

The clock showed 11:45, and Hans, the vet, had not appeared. "I’ll call him," Gary said.

"Don’t," I responded. "Please give him time." In fact, I wanted Sugar to have extra time. Deep in my heart, I hoped that Hans suddenly had gone on an emergency call elsewhere or even forgotten his appointment with us.

Tick, tick, tick! Except for the clock, the whole flat fell absolutely silent. Gary and I stopped talking, merely staring at each other.

Time seemed to slow. Kneeling by Sugar, I stroked her forehead, a spot where she always enjoyed being touched. But now her flesh had eroded and so had her eyes. She no longer could see or even walk unassisted. Yet she still looked gorgeous, and her fur remained shiny and soft like high-quality Chinese silk.

RING, RING! A telephone sounded as the vet called at noon. Like a big bang, the noise jolted my senses. But I didn’t jump. Instead, I stayed seated on the floor and let my stronger partner answer that "call of death". I knew that I could not handle it. My body trembled, and I felt like the one facing an imminent demise.

Soon the vet’s tall, slender figure appeared at the door. Behind him, the glare of sunlight on that July morning prevented me from looking directly at him. I saw just a dark figure.

Like a messenger from the underworld, he entered. The time to "put Sugar down" had arrived.

"Stay composed," I urged myself. "Don’t be a drama queen. Act like a good hostess for the sake of our guest and for Sugar."

But Hans noticed my vulnerability. He looked at me, appearing doubtful of my ability to stay calm. Somehow I found the strength to stand and say "hello".

"Would you like a cup of coffee?" I asked him. "With milk and sugar?"

The sweet dog named Sugar long had been my favourite pet, as well as my bodyguard, best friend and even a business "partner" at a local ice-cream shop where she probably had known the daily routine as well as I did. I used to claim that if she had human hands, she surely would have scooped ice-cream.

When saying the word "sugar", my heart plunged. Rushing from the living room into the kitchen, I prepared coffee so that the two men would not see me getting emotional. From there, I heard them whispering, possibly about Sugar’s steadily deteriorated condition.

Returning from the kitchen, I held a serving tray with two cups of coffee on it. Turning to Hans, I said, "Thank you for taking care of…."

My voice shook, rendering me unable to finish the sentence. Abruptly placing the tray on a table, I fled into the nearest room and closed the door. There I choked up as if to cry, but lacked many tears since I had cried day-and-night for a week prior to our "final decision" for Sugar.

Moments later, I pretended to be at peace and emerged from the room. After serving the coffee, I sat on a sofa as the men quietly sipped.

When the coffee had vanished, the procedure would begin. All too soon, Hans rose from the sofa, sat down on the floor and extracted his "tools" from a box – one small syringe for a sedative and a bigger one for the lethal concoction, plus several plastic tubes and bottles of medicines.

Gary sat by Sugar, patting her. As I resumed stroking her forehead, my hands shivered.

"You don’t like doing this, do you?" I wanted to ask Hans, but decided to hold back the question. Easily, I could see that he loved animals and took no pleasure in the deadly task that formed part of his profession. After all, he, too, had seen Sugar grow and mature. Then I noticed tiny tears near his eyes.

At almost the same moment, Gary let his feelings go. His eyes reddened, filling with tears. Men seldom cry, yet they still do. Or perhaps they cry often when nobody sees? I really don’t know.

The solemn "ceremony" continued. It took just a minute or two. Actually I failed to witness everything. Turning my head away prevented me from seeing the actual injection that ended Sugar’s life. Watching that would have caused me unbearable pain. But I peeked at Sugar to ensure her calmness.

Surprisingly, Sugar appeared ready for her time to depart from this world. She looked so relaxed, almost as if having a good dream when Hans inserted the needle. She did not struggle, staying the calmest among the four of us.

Probably she realized that we did a good thing to halt her suffering.

"She’s gone," Gary announced. "Her heartbeat has stopped".

Then he cried out loud, almost as if he never had cried before. But I knew that the last time he cried had been when our cat, Tiger, died more than two years earlier. Now all of our pets had gone, including four hamsters previously. Our nest had emptied.

"We love you, Sugar. We love you forever. Thank you for the joy that you brought to us!" I directed those words to her ears to convey that we had loved her with all of our hearts. But I did not say goodbye because I believe that we will reunite someday.


Note: Within a few weeks, Sugar would have reached her 16th birthday. She’s buried on a hillside near where she loved to swim at the Power Station Beach on Hong Kong’s Lamma Island.

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