This years’ Melbourne Writers festival has dedicated more than 20 events to animals. Its director Marieke Hardy says it’s natural to mourn our pets
When the tired-looking woman at the animal emergency clinic shuffled into the holding room wearing an apron spattered startlingly with blood, she told me I had a choice. I could submit my dear, doddery 14-year-old Staffy to some major surgery to determine whether the painful spots in her beautiful belly – causing her now sleepless nights and great, whimpering distress – were in fact a cancerous cluster, killing her slowly from the inside. Or I could save her from the ignominy and terror of being sliced open (“at this age, she might not survive it anyway,” the nurse offered helpfully), ease her out of pain and help her to leave this mortal coil.
That night in September 2015, under the too-bright lights of the clinic, with a faint chorus of anonymous animal sniffles and howls echoing faintly through the building, I processed The Choice. I duly wept. I held her sore little panting body. I texted friends who had been in parallel situations.
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