There is nothing more devastating than the loss of a pet...Except for them coming back
I’ve always preferred animals to people. You can commit to owning an animal safely knowing that you’ll never get your feelings hurt, get abandoned or ever be judged. Humans are too flawed, too unpredictable and I’ve had my heart fractured more times than I can count. I’ve lived alone for the majority of my adult life, something I guess others would find tragic and pathetic but I’ve been safe. Safe from the despair I know many of you feel.
That hasn’t come without its flaws though, I’ve suffered terrible loneliness. That all changed when I got Rufus though, he’s been the only thing that’s kept me going. Prevented me from dragging that knife across the bulbous veins on my wrists.
I was finally happy, something I’ve always lacked and yet craved desperately. He did that and no one else. Rufus was a rescue, purebred German Shepherd and he was my best friend. No one ever looked at me the way that dog did, I was everything to him. It was so pure. So undeniably authentic, nothing else compared.
Sadly, a few years later, Rufus fell ill - cancer. It was terminal and there was nothing they could do. I was broken, completely devastated. It felt like being stabbed in the stomach, the blade submerging itself deep into my flesh, twisting and pulling. I was bleeding out, metaphorically of course but that’s what it felt like. Rufus was my life and he was dying, I wanted to die with him.
I tried every treatment available and had Rufus pumped full of chemo, nothing worked. With each passing day, he worsened. His once beautiful fur began to thin, fall out and he could barely move his skeletal frame. I’d have to clean up his piss and shit where he lay because he couldn’t lift his brittle legs to carry himself out to the garden. It hurt me seeing him like this.
When Rufus began convulsing, that’s when I knew I had to say goodbye. I could no longer sit and watch his eyes roll back into his head whilst his body trembled. I could no longer cradle his fragile, broken frame in my arms as he whimpered, confused. It was time. I didn’t want to be cruel and keep him alive just for me, I had to let him go. I made the appointment at my local veterinary practice, they liked Rufus there so I knew they would be understanding, kind.
I sat in my car for the longest time, fucking crying like a baby and stroking his soft head. It used to fill me with immense comfort, but what I felt right there and then, was dread. I was about to lose the only thing that ever mattered to me and there was nothing I could do about it. I felt so helpless, so lost. I looked at Rufus, his eyes as white as milk and I felt my heart fracture some more.
“It’s ok, buddy. It’ll be over soon.” I said as I got out of the car.
With Rufus in my quivering arms, I walked over to the door and pressed the buzzer. I remember feeling like the whole world was closing in on me, clawing its way into my chest and squeezing tight. It was suffocating. I wasn’t sure if I could do it but I knew that I had to, for Rufus.
The receptionist saw my tear stricken face and rushed to let me inside. Not a word passed between us, she knew why I was there. She’d seen this countless times. Weary owners with their blood red eyes, the broken and the sick. There is a despair that perpetually permeates the air, utterly inescapable.
The waiting area was quiet, empty. I sat down and placed Rufus on the floor next to me; his chest moved awkwardly as I stroked him. He whimpered quietly, his strength waning. I put my face in my hands and tried to imagine my life without him. I couldn’t. I decided right there and then that I was going to kill myself. I opened my eyes, feeling...relief? I guess that’s what it was.
That was when I saw him, the man.
He looked misplaced, like he didn’t belong there at all. He was dressed in the most immaculate suit I’d ever seen; coal black. He sat a few feet away from me, I didn’t know how I hadn’t noticed him before. He sat unmoving, staring straight ahead. There was something about him that unsettled me. He had this blank, voidless stare that sent daggers through my heart. His eyes the colour of grey chalk. On his lap was a tattered briefcase, elegantly placed. I tried my best not to look at him.
At that moment, I heard one of the consulting room doors open and I knew it was time. The vet called Rufus’s name, my chest tightened as I stood up. My legs felt like jelly; wobbly and useless. I gathered Rufus in my arms and walked toward the person that was about to end his life and subsequently, mine.
I lay Rufus on the glistening metallic table and kissed his little paw.
“Are you ready?” The vet asked me.
I looked up, my vision blurry. No, I wasn’t ready.
“Yes.” I said weakly. My voice sounded meek, not my own.
The vet picked up the catheter that was going to go into Rufus’s paw. He gently shaved my boy's thin leg and inserted it. Rufus yelped as it went into his vein, I stroked him and whispered into his ear. I told him it was going to be okay, I wanted so desperately to believe it myself. I looked at the bottle of the Pentobarbital that stood on the table, the liquid death. The yellow solution warped and pulsated inside making my stomach turn. This was it.
“He won’t feel a thing”, the vet's voice sounded far away, distant.
Rufus had no idea what was happening, all he knew was the pain he felt and even that he could barely comprehend - it was soul crushing. I just hoped that my being there, holding his paw and stroking his soft fur would alleviate that confusion and pain somewhat. I think I was hoping that for my sake too.
“Here we go. You ready?”
I nodded, tears filling my eyes. I felt all the muscles in my body go rigid all at once. I watched as the vet’s gloved hand began gently pushing the syringe, I watched as the bright yellow liquid flowed through the catheter, seeping inside my beloved Rufus. Death was instant.
When it was over, I decided that I desperately needed a drink - I yearned for something to numb the ache in my heart. I drove to a nearby bar, one that was close to my flat as I knew there was no way I would be driving myself home. I drank until I couldn’t see, until my vision was nothing but blurry movements and shadows. I was on the verge of passing out on the gunky table when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“What ails you?” The voice said. I turned around to face whoever it was the voice belonged to. Ready to yell and scream at them to leave me the fuck alone.
It was a man. The same man that I saw at the vets just a few hours ago. I tried to squint to see his face but I couldn’t. It was obscured by the dim lights. All I could see was his mouth, which was twisted into a detestable smile
“My dog just died.” I said.
“I can help you, you know.” He said, his teeth gleamed in the feeble light.
“Help me how?” I asked.
“I can bring him back to life for you.” He said, his smile stretching from ear to ear. There was something about his voice that I found grating; it was gruff, like someone had chiseled at his vocal chords with a sharp knife.
“Fuck you, you lunatic.” I said and stood up to leave but he gripped my arm. Tight.
“Isn’t that what you want? I don’t need anything in return, I simply want to help alleviate your pain.” He whispered into my ear. I could smell his breath, it turned my stomach; I could feel the alcohol swishing around, threatening to escape. The scent lingered in the air - a mixture of stale whisky and something else...something rotten.
I freed myself from his herculean grip and stumbled out of the bar.
It hit me when I got home, the gravity of it all. My flat was so empty, so utterly lifeless that I wasn’t sure if I could get through the night alone. I collapsed on my bed, hoping for sleep to take me. Eventually, it did.
A faint scratching noise brought me back from my deep, drunken slumber. I remember waking up, momentarily unsure of where I was, of what happened. I looked for Rufus when it hit me, smashed into my mind like a tsunami; scrambling my thoughts. He’s dead, you stupid bitch. That was when I heard it again, a faint but audible scraping at my front door; calcified nails on hardwood. It was slow, yet desperate. I dragged myself from my bed, my head as heavy as lead.
As I approached, the scratching intensified, bellowing across my whole flat. I stumbled over to the front door, my vision blurred as I fumbled with the lock. When I opened it and saw what stood there, I threw up.
It was Rufus.
He stood on the carpeted landing, wagging his tail. I thought I was in some fucked dream so I pinched my flesh tightly, the pain surging through my arm like an electric shock. No, this was real. I was awake. I remember thinking, this was it. I had finally snapped, my already fractured mind had cracked and crumbled amidst all this fucking misery. I was seeing shit. I must have been because Rufus was dead and I knew that. I watched him die.
And yet, here he was.
He scurried into my flat and placed himself on his bed. As if nothing fucking happened.
“What the fuck is going on.” I managed to murmur, to myself of course.
My chaotic mind drifted to the encounter I had a few hours before with the man in the suffocatingly trim suit. Was it possible? Could he have done this? The scent of his putrefying breath still lingered, smothering the air in my flat. It couldn’t be true, could it? But Rufus was here, in the flesh. As real as you and me.
I gingerly tip toed toward him. I had to feel him, had to see for myself. I crouched down and placed a shaky palm on his head. He felt different, somehow. His once soft fur felt coarse, like dry straw. Rufus looked up at me then and our eyes met. I suddenly felt naked, vulnerable. He had never looked at like this before, like he really saw me, you know? It was unsettling. I averted my gaze.
“Good boy.” I managed to say before standing up.
This fatigue that I had never felt before suddenly washed over me like falling water. I staggered to my bed. Rufus observed my every movement, his eyes following me; darting back and forth. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was asleep but before I closed my eyes, I saw Rufus. For a a brief moment, I could have sworn that he was smiling.
The next day, I woke up feeling like I’d been hit by a bus; my head was heavy, my mouth screamed for water. The events from the previous day swirled in my mind like cigarette smoke. It all felt like a surreal dream, a very fucked up dream. Bred from trauma and severe intoxication. I needed a shower. I dragged myself from my bed and that was when I heard it, this detestable slurping noise.
It was coming from my kitchen.
My chest felt tight, as if gripped by a firm metallic hand. I tiptoed toward the noise, not daring to make a sound. I walked in and I saw him - Rufus. He stood by his barren food bowl, ears up and alert; waiting.
This was really happening.
He looked sheepish. Just how he used to look when he did something he shouldn’t have, like pissing on the carpet or eating food out of the bins. My eyes widened when I saw what lay in front of him; the mutilated body of a cat. It’s guts were splayed, maroon intestines lay scattered across the floor resembling thick, bulbous threadworms. A crimson lake surrounded it’s mangled body like lava.
My mouth was sour, bile rose in my throat and I distinctly remember throwing up. Rufus looked up at me then and he smiled. He fucking smiled, I was sure of it this time. His teeth glistened brightly in the morning sun, saturated with blood.
I’ve read Stephen King’s Pet Cemetery, you know? There was no fucking way I was letting that shit happen to me. I knew he came back wrong. I knew that this was not Rufus and I knew what I had to do. I bashed his fucking head in until it was nothing but a pulpy mess of sinewy tissue and I put his body in a black bag, along with the decayed corpse of the cat.
Later on that night, I was still reeling from all that fucked up Pet Cemetery shit. It took me hours to clean up the blood. I sat on my floor in a haze, reliving everything. The grief of losing Rufus had somewhat waned, drifted away. I was worn out so I had hoped that sleep would take me swiftly that night. Thankfully, it did.
It was the sound of panting that woke me up that time, the sound of heavy, laboured breathing. The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was Rufus standing at the foot of my bed. He was covered in dirt and viscera; bits of serrated flesh hung limply to his snout as he breathed. He was back but I couldn’t understand how. Before I had the chance to fully absorb the lunacy that was encompassing me, I saw the blood. It shimmered in the dead of the night. There was so much blood. I whimpered when I saw who it belonged to. On my floor lay the corpse of a man. The butchered body of the vet, my vet. The one that put Rufus to sleep.
It was abhorrent. His flesh had been torn, shredded by a set of razor sharp teeth. His lacerated torso was drenched in crimson; wet and glistening. He was missing all of his fingers; I could see the exposed bone, the mangled skin.
This wasn’t my fucking dog. Rufus was kind and gentle. The grief that I felt at his loss was still raw, tender like an open wound and this travesty, this abomination was trying to take his place. My mind raced, I felt on the verge of a nervous breakdown but I willed myself to stay together; to not fall apart at the seams.
I was determined to make this thing disappear. I walked into my kitchen and retrieved the largest knife I could find. I decapitated not-Rufus, I carved into his unnatural, gooey flesh and cut him up into tiny little pieces. I drove for hours, buried the pieces of Rufus and the surgeon in a desolate forest just outside of town.
I prayed to God that it was over.
When I got home a short while later, I found Rufus sitting on my bed. He barked and growled at me; this guttural snarl escaped his blood stained lips. He licked his teeth with this lacerated tongue and then he spoke.
”Wasn’t this what you wanted?”
I think that was when something in me finally snapped.
Rufus was the only thing that had kept me going all these years and now he may be the one thing that will be the end of me.
I have tried to find the man responsible, the man with the impossibly trim suit and tattered briefcase. The man who did this to me. It has all been fruitless though, utterly pointless. It was as if he never existed.
I have killed Rufus every way imaginable. I have burned him, watched his flesh melt and sizzle until it was nothing but an abhorrent gooey, flesh puddle. I have stabbed him, inserted the knife into every possible organ. I have cut off his head, again and again. I have even carved out his heart and yet, he returned.
I’ve killed my dog Rufus exactly 100 times now and he will not stop coming back. Every single time.
Posted Apr 1, 2021, 3:28 PM UTC