Hershey's Kiss

I opened my eyes to a dark room. The dark outline of trees, through the window, were only visible against the even darker night. It was a cool spring night; a strong breeze rattled the single pane of glass window.

Two eyes glowed pale blue against that dark night. It was Hershey. He had cuddled next to my leg for warmth as he usually did. I could hear him whimpering softly. Too weak to stand up, he pulled his limp body across the bed to greet me, using his front two paws.

I knew something was wrong, something was terribly wrong. His stomach was distended but he was terribly thin, and still he was making that soft, haunting whimper.

"Hershey? Hershey! What's wrong?" I asked.

I picked him up and held him in my lap. I gently stroked his fur, he looked up at me. Near my bed was the yellow pages, I looked for an animal hospital. Looking, calling, looking, calling... I called dozens. Finally I found one that was open. I grabbed my keys, threw on a hat and ran out the door. We were on our way.

The dim glow of headlights barely cut through the black, moonless night. I was rushing, fearful, panicked, scared, white-knuckled and strangling the steering wheel. In the passenger seat was a cage; soft and fluffy, meant for a baby. In the cage was Hershey. He was unusually quiet and peaceful; his thin body was too weak to hold up, so he rested and kept his eyes fixed on me for the duration of the ride.

We sped through the empty streets. "Hang on buddy! Hang on Hershey!" I pleaded with him. "We're almost there." And we were.

We pulled up the animal hospital; it loomed against the night sky like some malicious castle at the crest of a hill. There were a few lights on. It was the only one with an around-the-clock emergency care center. I rushed in, finding one lonely girl standing vigil behind the counter, and explained the situation. There was a commotion, a vet approached me; I was led into a waiting room. They took the cage from my hands.

Waiting was the hardest part. I paced back and forth in the small room. Had it been an hour? or only five minutes? It was hard to tell. The sickly orange walls of my temporary prison had been decorated with heart worm warnings and lists of benefits for spaying or neutering your animal. One in particular caught my interest. It was a dog with his master both smiling and mocking me, judging me with their paper eyes. I was tormented by them. My hat felt strangely foreign against my head, and my clothes were chafing. I shifted restlessly. After an eternity the veterinarian came in.

"I'm sorry to tell you Mr. Williams, but Hershey is very sick; he has FIP."

"What can you do for him? Will he be okay?"

"FIP is an incurable disease, we could operate and put him on an IV and hope to prolong his life. The procedure would cost around fifteen hundred dollars, and his chances of surviving through the night would be about ten percent."

Guilt and shame hit me like rapid floodwaters. I was his father, I was the responsible one. I was the hand that fed him. I fumbled my wallet in my pocket, feeling the emptiness of it. "Only a ten percent chance?" I asked. I needed reassurement.

"Yes."

My heart stopped, fresh tears welled in my eyes and surely I would stop breathing from the lump in my throat. "Then," in a voice more from a mouse than from a man, "I think it's best if... we put him down."

"Would you like to say goodbye?"

"Yes, of course." Tears were now streaming down my face, the levies had broken. Shamefully, I wiped them away, and pulled my hat low.

The vet left the room. I was alone again, standing there in my orange cell, left with my thoughts and the dog who mocked me. The blame and the terror of the atrocity I would allow crushed me. Would I allow this for mercy? Would it be because I couldn't afford the alternative? I knew what I wanted the answer to be, but I knew what the answer was. My hands clenched and stretched. I took off my hat, and wrung it in my hands instead. Hershey wouldn't recognize me with a hat on; I never wore a hat.

She came back into the room with Hershey. His body seemed to be disappearing before me. He was placed on a table. I took his paw in my hand. He didn't resist. It was warmer and fuzzier than any childhood blanket. My hand was covered in scratches, scratches from playing with my kitten; scratches that would fade away and never come back. He didn't scratch me this time. Some part of me knew that this was the last time I would see him, and this was the last time he would see anything.

The vet looked at me, "he was spasming violently just before," she said. She sounded surprised that he wasn't now. I wasn't surprised. He loved me. He trusted me to take care of him. With me, he knew everything would be alright... His big, beautiful eyes pleaded with me. They pleaded with me to make everything alright. I soon would...

I bent down and kissed his forehead, it was the first and last kiss I'd ever give him. "I love you Hershey. You're a good boy... a very good boy. I'm sorry I wasn't a better father. You deserve the best and I hope you get to go to a better place, I'm sure you will... don't be afraid," I whispered. More tears left their salty trails down my cheeks. I couldn't take it anymore.

She administered the shot.

We were looking into each other's eyes.

His eyes didn't close... his eyes never closed.