Perspective Practice

 

Perspective 1:

With the bright morning sun breaching my sheer white curtains, muscles tense from a flat, old mattress, and the loud wheezing accompanied by the hot stench of decayed seafood in my face, I stirred awake angrily. I pat at the covers and slowly they come to life. A mousey, grayed face appears. His once black features were covered in white, and the velvet soft fur scarce on the top of his head and ears. “Milo–stop buddy, please” I groaned (knowing it was out of his control). I grit my teeth and pulled him into my chest, my own personal heater. Despite my discomfort, I held him close and closed my eyes, occasionally patting at his back as he spasmed and coughed. At least he had an appointment today, maybe they could increase his dosage. I knew there was no cure for his ailments¬–a collapsed trachea and a significant heart murmur, indicative of his breed and age. 15 years was old, even for a Chihuahua. My intrusive thoughts asked the question I didn’t dare breathe out loud, ‘how long does he have left?’. Like chalk on a blackboard, I wiped this notion away, leaving hazy clouds of dust and particles to land and settle into my brain. The rest of the morning was spend keeping myself busy until it was time for my mom and I to bring Milo to the vet’s. I then walked over to the plush dog bed in the corner of the hallway and scooped him, gritting my teeth as I kissed his little features (a term my sister and I coined ‘cute-aggression’). I wrapped him gently into a warm blanket and carried him to the car where he sat in my lap. Once in the vet’s office, we stood in a small sterile room talking to the technician. The woman had me place Milo on the table and steady him as she listened to his heart and took notes on his symptoms. The vet then arrived and performed a full check-up. Upon finishing, he began explaining congestive heart failure and dogs of Milo’s age. His voice trailed off into the distance as he discussed possible short-term treatments emphasizing nothing would fix Milo’s deteriorating condition. I felt my body burn and my throat close. I stifled a sob and then broke, tears streaming. I only half-heard as he talked about making a compassionate decision and giving us time to talk. “I’m so sorry” the technician said. A hand reached across the table giving me a box of tissues and the door closed quietly. I was in shock. Hadn’t we been here to fix his dosage? This couldn’t be happening. “I feel sick. I can’t.” I whispered through my cries. 

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Perspective 2:

I cough myself awake and breathe heavily. Under the dark heavy cloth draped over me I can just make out two, pale furless legs. I sense the body tense and hear Mia groan, “Milo–stop buddy, please”. Why? What did I do? Suddenly there’s a pat. OOOH she wants attention. I crawl from my fort and pop my head into the light. The first things I see when I wake up: crusty brown eyes, disheveled long hair, and tiny hands outstretched to give me a scratch. My human. She looks even more tired than usual today and sadder somehow. Are we going to take a nap later? I hope she isn’t mad I woke her up last night. The familiar hands pull me close and I try to relax against her body. It’s hard though with all this coughing. She finally picks me up and takes me downstairs and outside. I hate the snow. Maybe if I run up and down the deck and cry to come in I’ll have tricked her. It’s much nicer to be inside on my bed. When she lets me in I head straight for the stairs and my comfy spot in the hallway. I try to rest. Some time later I am woken up by a looming shadow. Mia again. She picks me up and kisses me on the head (she does that a lot). She then wraps me in a blanket and takes me to the car, the one they call ‘Mom’ is there too. Oh how I hate car rides! Where are we going? I feel Mia rhythmically stroking my back, hands slightly trembling. Her and mom talk about the vet’s. We better not be going there! Last time they left me all alone for what felt like days. She says she’s “hoping for the best”. We get out of the car and despite the warm blanket wrapped around me I can feel the chill. I smell dogs. Shoot. We’re at the vet. We go inside to a room and Mia places me on the cold, shiny table. More people come in. They put things on me and then talk softly. Before I know it Mia picks me up again. Something is wrong. I feel rain but we’re inside. I look at Mia and see a red blotchy face. Why is she sad?