Godless Mom in the Bible Belt

I have a little white fluffy dog named Echo. Over the years I've had many pets and I've loved every one of them but Echo is that special one who is actually in possession of my heart.

Echo came into my life before I'd actually hit legal drinking age in October of 1990. That October was a big month for me, I independently bought my first new car (a Ford Festiva) and I came in possession of a white, squirming, newborn puppy. I've gone through four cars in the ensuing years but almost 15 years later, I still have Echo.

I worked at a veterinary hospital in Salt Lake City and came on to my shift late one afternoon. A female dog had been brought into the clinic, she was in the middle of whelping a litter of three pups. She was a very high strung animal, and wasn't doing a very good job of taking care of the pups. The first pup had died and the second was wounded beyond help, the third was Echo. Echo was born at the clinic and I promptly became her mother.

If you've never hand-raised a pup or a kitten let me tell you it is hard work. They must be fed every two hours round the clock, they cannot urinate or defecate on their own at first and require stimulation from you to help them along, their body temperature is always on the move and you must be constantly vigilant to ensure proper environmental temperature. It is hard work, but completely worth the effort. The result is an animal who is so completely bonded with you and so thoroughly convinced that it is human that it is impossible to see the animal as a pet. Instead, you have a new human family member who just happens to walk on all fours and drool a bit.

Echo has been with me through the entire period of my life where I officially became an adult. We have lived in cockroach infested apartments together because the nice places didn't take pets, she has lived off of Ramen noodles with me when I had to spend grocery money on text books, she has nursed me through partying hangovers and accompanied me on numerous adventures into the wilds of the American west. She adjusted with good-natured patience to my first bringing home an adult male human to live with us and with equal good-natured patience when I brought home an infant female human.

My Echo is old now, she spends most of the day sleeping and rarely interacts with the family. Her muscle mass is gone now and she is boney and thin despite a hearty appetite. Her hearing is all but gone (although she does respond when I yell) and as of two weeks ago her vision is gone too.

In my former career as a vet tech part of my job over the years was to euthanize animals who were sickly or injured, old and infirm. I never took this responsibility lightly and my heart always ached for both the animals and the owners but I knew that my actions were for the best.

But how will I know when it is time for me to take that step with Echo? How can I possibly look at her with the kind of remote detachment necessary to make that decision? The tail still wags and the tongue still licks despite the fact that she bumps into walls and gets lost in her own backyard. It's just too painful. I don't think I'll know when to say when.