Putting Pepper Down

Last month I took Pepper to the vet.
I took him there for the vet to kill.
I have not gotten over it yet.
The experience bothers me still.

Pepper was twenty-one years old.
That’s long-lived for a Shih Tzu.
He had become pitiful to behold.
There wasn’t anything else to do.

Pepper had lost almost all his teeth.
He was nearly deaf, went totally blind.
His legs would collapse underneath
when he stood; killing him was kind.

He had been my in-laws’ beloved pet
for fifteen years. After Willard died,
Nellie said she was in Pepper’s debt
for the companionship he did provide.

When cancer befell Nellie five years ago,
we took Pepper in to set her mind at rest.
In her last months it comforted her to know
Pepper had a good home as our house guest.

Pepper was an old dog, sick with a cough
when we took him in. We didn’t believe
he’d live very long. Boy, were we ever off!
A return to good health Pepper did achieve.

For five years Pepper was part of our lives.
The old fellow won a place in our hearts.
Linda said, “Part of my mother survives
with Pepper, a link to share until he departs.”

Last month I took Pepper to be killed.
I stood beside him, stroking his head,
until by the injection his heart was stilled.
The vet simply said, “It’s done. He’s dead.”

I admit I cried. Actually, I sobbed like a child.
The experience still disturbs and saddens me.
But when I think how Nellie must have smiled
upon being reunited with Pepper, it comforts me.

You were a good dog, Pepper.


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