Mass sat under the reading light. It warmed the top of her head. She had a constant ache in her back now and had found more bruises. Her right wrist was sore as well. What on earth was the matter with her? She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. There could be no doubt anymore. Something was seriously wrong with her body.
Shiba was no longer as fat as a stuffed sausage but instead was a weak, skin-and-bones bag of a dog feeling a lot of pain. She was riddled with cancer, so there was no hope. Mass could sit in the corner with her for ages, stroking her head and back while mumbling words of affection. She drew in the smell of her, buried her face in her fur, rubbed her big paws. Eddie watched them from the living room. He knew where it was all leading and could tell that his mother was putting it off for as long as she could. One day, he went into the kitchen, leaned against the windowsill, and said: “Enough is enough. She can hardly walk. And there’s no dignity in shitting on a newspaper.”
Mass looked at her son. “I know. But I can’t face it. It’ll be so empty without her. No one waiting for me in the morning.”
“I’ll be waiting,” Eddie said.
“But to stand there and watch him give her the injection — I can’t even bear to think about it,” she said, distraught. “I just can’t do it.”
Eddie made a big decision. Buoyed by his visit to Copenhagen, he felt that he could now do anything, and what’s more, he really wanted to help. He liked the fact that his mother needed him.
“I’ll take her to the vet,” he said firmly, “so you don’t need to. I’ll sort everything out. Just call Munthe to say that I’m coming.”
Mass thought about it for a while. “Do you think I’m a coward?” she asked.
“Of course not,” Eddie assured her. “You’ve never been a coward. You can say goodbye to Shiba here, and then I can carry her out to the car.”
“OK,” she said eventually. “Thank you. Let’s do that, then.” Now that the decision had finally been made, she picked up the phone and called Munthe. She explained that Eddie would come with Shiba, that she couldn’t face it, and that she would like it done as soon as possible.
“I’ll go and buy some smoked sausage,” she said to Eddie afterward. “So that she finishes with something nice.”
“Buy some for me too,” Eddie said. “I’m starving.”
When the day finally came, they were both up early. This was no ordinary day. Mass couldn’t bear to look her son in the eye.
Shiba had been given the first appointment of the day because Mass didn’t want to wait for too long. She had transferred three thousand kroner to Eddie’s account to pay for having the dog put down and cremated. She would go to the vet at some later point to pick up the urn, which she wanted to keep by the wood burner. It was a quarter past seven when Eddie carried the sick dog out to the car, and then it was time for Mass to say goodbye. Eddie gave her plenty of time; he sat patiently at the wheel and waited. For some reason, he was excited to be part of this. He felt that he was on an important mission. But also, Shiba’s death meant that he would no longer have to share his mother’s attention with anyone.
He drove the eighteen miles into town, parked the car, and got out. He opened the back door and lifted her down. She stood there on shaky legs and looked at him dolefully. “Come on,” he said. “You’re not getting out of it.”
She pulled herself across the parking lot to the steps. Then Eddie had to lift her up and carry her into reception, where he put her down on the floor before going to the counter.
“Malthe,” he said. “I’m here to put my dog down.”
“What’s your dog’s name?”
“Shiba.”
The veterinary nurse nodded. “Mr. Munthe is ready for you,” she said. “He’ll be right out.”
Eddie sat down. The only other person there was a young girl, with a basket on the floor in front of her. Maybe it was a cat or a rabbit. “There’s always something wrong with pets,” he whispered to the dog. “You’re expensive.”
Shiba had closed her eyes. He wondered if she had a sixth sense, if she knew what was about to happen. Generally dogs seemed to understand an awful lot. Humans know that they’re going to die, he thought, so dogs must too.
Munthe stopped in front of him. “Good morning, Eddie. So you’ve come, eh?” he said.
“Mom couldn’t face it,” he explained.
“So I understand,” Munthe said. “It’s a good thing she’s got you.”
Eddie felt pride swelling in his breast. He followed the vet into the room, pulling Shiba behind him for those final steps. Then they put her on a bench that could be raised and lowered.
“I know this is hard for you,” Munthe said in a comforting voice, “but in terms of her health and well-being, it is absolutely the best thing for all three of you.”
“I know,” Eddie replied. “I’ve told Mom hundreds of times.” He put his hand on the dog’s head, trying to catch her eye.
“Would you like some time alone with her?” Munthe asked.
“No,” Eddie said immediately. “Just do it.”
Munthe got some small ampoules and a syringe. Then he put his hand on the dog’s neck and explained the procedure to Eddie.
“First I’ll give her an injection in the neck skin here. It’s an opiate, so it will make her drowsy and calm. Once she’s had that, Shiba won’t worry about much anymore.”
“Sounds good,” Eddie said, keen to get on with it.
Munthe put the needle into her skin and emptied the syringe. He looked across at Eddie. “We have to wait for fifteen minutes now. She’ll fall into a light sleep. So I’ll leave the two of you alone now.”
Eddie leaned down over Shiba and thought about what was about to happen. He lifted her paw; it was completely floppy. He pulled her tail as he normally did, but she didn’t react. He lifted an eyelid and stared into her black pupil. She was drooling. Then he sat down again and waited for the executioner. He heard a little dog yapping out in reception, possibly a poodle or a Chihuahua; a telephone was ringing furiously but no one answered. There were people sitting out there who needed help with all kinds of things. Maybe their dog had worms or eczema, or a double set of teeth like Shiba had had when she was a puppy. When he got home, he would have to report everything to his mother — exactly what had happened because she would no doubt ask about all the details. After a while, Munthe came back. He got another syringe.
“I inject this one into her front leg,” he explained. “It’s intravenous. So it works very fast; it only takes a minute. It paralyzes her brain first, then her breathing. She won’t notice anything. She’s already out of it.”
Eddie thought about Mass. She would be waiting with her hands in front of her face. She might have cleared the kitchen corner already, put away the two dishes and the old blanket. She might even be vacuuming the floor to get rid of all the dog hairs.