I saw a lot of dying dogs (not mine!)...

— dogs who couldn’t walk and dogs who had collapsed and dogs who couldn’t walk and then had collapsed — at the emergency/specialty vet this week, where I was with my pup for a non-emergency appointment for his slowly failing heart, where my dog’s appointment was delayed because they had, quote, “a patient crashing right now,” where I was trying to entertain my toddler during what had become a 3+-hour outing, where these dogs’ poor owners sobbed on the curb outside or asked how many font choices there were for the urn they were selecting from the laminated sheet with pictures of urns or wailed at bad news in some room in the back or listened to how much it was going to cost to euthanize their 18-year-old best friend, and it was so sad and so exhausting (for me! a spectator! never mind the staff and doctors!), and it made me think about what a delusional choice it is to bring a pet into your life, because no matter for how long you sit in a lobby and watch distraught pet parent after distraught pet parent enter, no matter how many meds your pup is now on for his heart, you refuse to believe it will be you, you cannot possibly conceive of how it could ever be you, will not imagine the day it is you speeding up to the door, hopping out with your pet cradled in your arms, tears streaming down your face, and bursting into the lobby, where maybe a smiling toddler points in your direction and says, “Woof woof!” in delight at the perishing animal in your arms while his embarrassed mother tries to steer him away and give you the privacy you deserve, because that was simply not fathomable 10 or 13 or 19 years ago, when you snuggled a brand new puppy, vowed to give him the best life, hooked his leash onto the bright blue collar you picked out for him, and led him, stumbling over his own stumpy legs, out the door.