REGRET
I have lived a life with very few regrets. Not that I wouldn’t do anything differently if I could, but that those events are so minor and inconsequential, they’re not worth going back in time or anything to try and fix. There is but one thing throughout my entire life, that I know, without a shadow of a doubt, I would change.
I don’t remember too much about the day itself, it was so long ago. I remember it was warm, I was in a T-shirt and shorts. I think I was ten at the time. I came home, either I had no homework or I had already finished it, and went to go play with my dog. Her name was Nantucket. She had white fur on her legs and belly, with her back being covered by brown and black. People still called her a puppy, despite her age.
I didn’t ordinarily play with Nantucket. She wasn’t technically my dog. My family had had her since before my older sister was born, so I was never given much responsibility over her. But that day, I wanted to be with her.
I had gotten a bean bag for Christmas a few years ago. Rather than just sitting on top of it, I would unzip it and sit inside. I brought Nantucket in with me before I started watching TV. After a few minutes of watching Cartoon Network, my dad came down to ask me what I was doing, telling me that it was today.
I had known about it for quite a while. I was blindsided, not because I didn’t know it was happening, but because I thought it was happening in three more days. I unzipped my bean bag and Nantucket climbed out. She was getting put down today.
***
Nantucket had been on the old side ever since I could remember. She was so small and adorable that people would still call her a puppy, but my mother would correct them regardless. Out of everyone in my family, my mother was, by far, Nantucket’s favorite. My mother was the one that chose Nantucket after all. It was her idea to name her after my parent’s honeymoon destination. She loved that dog.
Funnily enough, I was Nantucket’s least favorite. Dogs are a lot like people when it comes to new family members. Nantucket was my mother’s eldest daughter. When my sister was born, she still seemed happy to have a new addition to the family. When I was born, she thought that was too many other kids. Even so, Nantucket would protect me from other dogs when I was a baby, barking at them, claiming me as hers.
I didn’t even know Nantucket didn’t like me that much until I was an adult. That might explain why she was squirming around so much when we were in the bean bag. That and that it was a confined space. I was still a kid, didn’t know much better.
***
It started out slowly at first. She started to refuse to eat. And when she did eat, it wasn’t that much. Nantucket was 15 years old at the time. Not having much of a concept for time, I thought she still had plenty of years to go. I thought she was still young. People still called her a puppy after all.
My parents had been taking more frequent trips to the vet during this time, trying to find out what was wrong with her and what they could do. As it turns out, it was nothing.
My parents came home one day and told us that Nantucket was going to be put down. My sister and I were outraged. How could we do this to her? She was a part of the family. But they explained it to us too well; we could either let her live out the rest of her time in agony or put her out of her misery. I tried to protest, but I had already conceded that they were right.
***
A few hours after the bean bag incident, my family got ready to go to the vet. My mother, father, and sister were already headed outside. They asked me if I was going. I said no. I didn’t even think about it. I didn’t want to see my dog die. I just sat in a chair watching Nickelodeon.
What I was watching was supposed to be funny, but I wasn’t laughing. I couldn’t laugh. I was just thinking of my dog. What must have been going on. Had it already happened?
An hour passed and the door squeaked open. My family walked up the stairs. My mother was holding a sealed, wooden box with Nantucket’s name on it. That’s where they had put the ashes.
I hadn’t shed a tear that day.
***
About two months later, the school year was winding down. Rather than having full classes, all the other fourth graders would get together and watch movies or play games. It was a fun time. That day, we were watching Underdog. I was having a good time, smiling, laughing. It was a good movie to my ten-year-old brain.
Then something clicked.
Underdog was a beagle.
The fur patterns were completely different, and they weren’t even the same gender. This dog looked nothing like mine. That didn’t stop me from sobbing uncontrollably in the middle of the movie. Everybody stared. People couldn’t tell what was wrong with me. I couldn’t respond either. For reasons completely unexplainable, I was utterly inconsolable.
My teachers escorted me out of the room, giving me time to collect myself. No one else knew why I was sobbing, but I did.
My dog was going to die, it must have been terrifying for her, yet, when asked if I would be there for her, I said no. The one that protected my siblings and me from other dogs, the one that my family treated as another child, someone that I loved, why wasn’t I there for them?
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