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It was the day she finally decided not to get out of bed. It was the day she stopped caring about hurting herself for the benefit of others. It was the day I realized I needed to stop being selfish. That day I took her to the vet to be put down. And that day was also her birthday.

I had been Coquiña’s owner for sixteen years, since she was small enough to hold cupped between my two hands. I got her right before I left for college, so our first years weren’t ideal, but she always greeted me on my visits home with a torrent of spastic tail wagging and a mouth that curled upwards into a beaming smile. But that friend I once knew was gone now. Left was a bony pile of skin lacking the energy to do more than a single half-hearted wag as I walked by.

Memories had kept me awake the night before, making my decision harder with each fragment. But now, thankfully, they had silenced themselves. Left in their place I felt a sickening numbness coat me. Though I moved towards Coquiña my mind was far away.

I picked her up from the floor and carried her to the car I had left idling out front. Her body shook like a leaf as we walked. But it was not fear, her frail body was simply too weak to contain the sickly spasms. I left her curled up in the backseat and returned for a glance around the house to postpone the inevitable. My eyes landed on her bed, torn blankets she gnawed on in an attempt to help relieve the pain. I saw the patches of hair that had fallen out in clumps and I remembered the food bowl I had moved closer to her bed so she wouldn’t be made to walk as far. I had tried to remain blind to her pain for so long, but now that I looked around, the signs were everywhere.

I slid into the driver’s side and looked down at the faded cloth seats. My fingers danced across the multicolored cubes. Coquiña released a sigh from the back as if to encourage me. “Come on,” she nudged. “It’s time.”

During the drive, my nails dug into the steering wheel of my Chevy. While all I wanted was to travel back in time, it plunged me into the future. The veterinarian’s sign came into view and my foot grudgingly lifted off the pedal. She didn’t even bother lifting her head in recognition; she was beyond care.

There was no refuge to be found in the clinic’s waiting room. Harsh, cold steel stared back at me from every surface. There were dogs lying upon the laminate floors, but no words were passed between their owners. The only sounds were the feeble clicks of Coquiña’s nails upon the tiles and the shallow panting of other patients.

As I checked in at the front desk I spoke in a low voice, partially to avoid disturbing the tenor of the room, partially to keep from alerting others to the horrible deed I was committing myself to. The woman was pleasant, not at all phased by the fact that I had just handed down a death sentence to my best friend.

“Last name?” she chirped

“Poisson.”

“And what was your appointment time again?”

My mind blanked, “I don’t remember.” I paused, looked back at Coquiña, and made a decision. “Actually, I don’t think I have an appointment at all--”

“Nope,” the secretary plowed on as if she had not even heard me. “I’ve got it right here already in the system. Dr. Miller’s actually ready for you already in Room 3 if you’d like to head in there now.”

The doctor might’ve been ready, but I certainly wasn’t. This office was much the same as the waiting room: cold, hard, uninhabitable. Dr. Miller was already in the room and she helped me lift Coquiña onto the thick metal exam table. I felt a bubble of panic rise up my throat, suffocating me. Doctor Miller looked at me with an expression that told me she had seen this scenario all too many times before. It was one of relative sympathy, but I was aware that she kept one eye trained on the clock hanging above my head. More patients to see, I suppose. More lives to hold in the palm of her hand. Without taking her eyes off the clock, Doctor Miller asked if I needed a moment alone. I pet my girl a few times before breaking down and shoving my face into her fur. The long strands were quickly covered by my tears. The only sign of acknowledgement was a deep exhale as she fought to breathe with my head pressed against her chest. In the background I heard the doctor preparing the medication. I wasn’t ready for this. But swift hands had already slipped the needle into Coquiña’s paw.