I woke up in the morning, tired from a long night - went down and gave her a bath. She didn't resist, she seldom resisted me. She once had the power to break a man's arm like a twig. Now I could feel every bone in her body as the lather built up.
I gave her some good food - until her last second she still had a voracious appetite. But I had to leash her, because I had to do something almost bad. I dug her grave while she was alive. I didn't want anyone else doing it, or laying her to rest anywhere else. This is her home, here is where I brought her when she was no more than the length of my forearm, and here is where she ought to sleep.
I think, I poured my frustration into the ground, as I took out the earth from which she is now a part of. It didn't feel right, but it was getting dark - and letting her go cold as I prepared her grave would be worse. I chose this instead.
The man came, and with him a large vial. Two jabs of phenobarbitone was administered directly into her heart. She still stood obediently, because I was there. But within seconds she collapsed, and convulsed briefly. I held her. My mother asked me to return to the house - she thinks of me as a little child still - but I stayed on, and watched her slowly give away. It wasn't long - a mere minute at most. But I know it was the most excruciating minute of her life. She took her last, deep, dying breaths. Four, I think. And I closed her eyes.
I couldn't cry, nor even shed a tear - but merely watched on while caressing her into her last sleep. A man named Joseph von Mering found this substance, and he found that, it worked best when putting dogs to sleep. He named the drug Veronal, after, what he believed was the most peaceful city he knew: Verona of Italy.