"It’s the Hardest Thing..."

My friend since 1996, neighbor and pet care person texted back, "It's the hardest thing...". She texted back the morning just hours prior to my decision to have our last pet euthanized. It's not something I'd ever done. Although I've been told I have a killer instinct. Which I've discovered over the past 20 years that would be true. A promoter said that to my fight coach after my first cage fight. The promoter saw the charged smile on my face after I'd just lost to a decision. I am disciplined, so thank God for that. My feeling is we all have that, but not the amount I've discovered I have, and most certainly most do not have the obsessive level of discipline I have had or have.

Fast forward to yesterday afternoon holding our bunny for quite sometime before her sedation in a veterinary treatment room.  About 20 minutes later the vet and vet tech arrived finding a spot to inject a sedative into our pet bunny. They said it would take ten minutes, then they could administer the final blow to the finality of our pet bunny's life. Five minutes after they'd left, our pet slid nearly onto the left side of her face on the treatment table as I pet her with long, slow, gentle strokes. She was moving the one part her mouth for another 15 minutes. That I can say seemed torturous. Then after 20 minutes the vet arrived back in and said, "She's fighting the sedation. I'll have to take her and give her some gas. When it's over we'll bring her back to you." They wrapped her up in the light green towel I'd provided, this was 20 minutes after the supposed sedative that was not working had been given.
About 15 or so minutes later, our bunny was brought back to me in the towel I'd provided assuming she'd expired. The vet checked for a heart beat. She did it three times. She actually thought she'd moved. The vet checked again. She'd expired. I then exited holding the closed padded box that was the original box I'd brought her home, in early 2015 from the pet store. Now I exited with our pet bunny expired in the box to bury her next to our most two recent pets who'd died in the last five months. Both were geriatric,  yet didn't act like it. One a bunny had a stroke from men drilling the pavement on the street outside our home which shook our house three times a week for three weeks. The other was a guinea pig who'd developed some infection, a first in his eight years. Both situations were sudden and unexpected.
I arrived home, as our youngest daughter, reasonably upset didn't want to help bury the bunny. It was too much. She was being consoled by one of her good friends. I decided to clean up all pet items, undo the tape from the floor holding down the 'serenity pads' under the towels and fleece that were provided for the comfort and cleanliness. We'd allowed the three pets free-range, as the two bunnies were litter trained and were free-range 24/7 since December 2019. I kept our expired bunny in the box in our kitchen as I cleared areas where the two litter boxes resided. I cleared the folding table that held all hay, pet items over a bunny cage that was open for when our pets wanted alone time. I swept, dusted, washed and polished the wood floors, packed up the pet items for a rescue animal shelter, and stowed away the table. This took over three hours.
Finally, I was ready to bury our pet bunny. I delayed the burial to make certain... well that she had truly expired. To me, the way we were handled at the veterinary place I felt was inappropriate. It's also not what I was told how it was going to occur. I believe certain protocol was not followed.
After providing proper grave, covering the grave, topping off with nice rocks I'd kept from clearing out stumps from the ground in the past 3 years. I prayed then left alone carrying the cardboard bunny's box back into our home for recycling. I cleaned the tools. And threw in a load of wash. Texted our daughters and let them know how things went and what I'd just finished doing.
As this all unfolded, the text that I'd received from my pet sitter friend earlier didn't just resonate it repeated continuously in my thoughts.
I realized I have had to make some brutal decisions in my life. Such as: Narc'ing on people with no support from my superiors. I calculated the decision, as I was threatened to do the right thing as I always have done.  Testifying to put a predator away, even though I was told by a high-end defense attorney, "Don't do it. You will lose." The odds were over 90 percent against me in the case being won, and the predator serving time if any. I did it anyway, for all the right reasons. Years later, being threatened when my own state violated my victim's rights and I knew who the threat was and I had a choice. I chose better for my family, even though I had offers to finish the job. Many decades earlier, I had gotten a couple Marines court-martialed, kicked out and probably thrown in jail for robbery and predatory actions. Once was after I was raked over the coals by MPs treating me like I was the criminal. My decision not to retaliate, again was chosen.
Choosing to say goodbye to loved ones because I took an oath and was mobilized with just a year left of service, I held up my end of the bargain. I've had to make many hard decisions, none of which were simple nor easy. In all this being said, I will go as far as saying now I contemplated all those people who think that they should make decisions for women about their bodies is inherently wrong. It is not only counterproductive,  it is also counterintuitive. Decisions that we have to make, we should be allowed to make for ourselves regardless of anyone else's belief.  Anyone thinking differently is committing a greater sin, as God has bestowed upon us 'free-will'. And to think we should interfere on that free-will that is decision-making on one's body-autonomy is incorrect and is unethical, as those decisions may be the hardest thing a person ever has to do.---Jody-Lynn Reicher