Before we put on his collar,
before we got into the car,
before we drove to the vet,
before the receptionist came out,
before he told us to go to room three,
before the vet sat on the floor by my dog,
before she told me what she would do,
before she slid the needle into his
vein,
before he flinched from the sting,
before she gave him the morphine,
before she petted him while it took effect,
before she administered the
lethal dose,
before she put the stethoscope to his chest and declared him
dead, (Oh my god!)
.
.
.
I cried.
Margaret Krusinga lives on sixty acres she and her husband manage loosely for wildlife. Diagnosed with MS in 1976, she graduated college under a cloud, in 1977. Poetry has become her go-to for highs, lows, and understandings. She conducts a small writing group that meets once a month. When not writing, she cans tomatoes and walks her dog. Her poem “Diagnosis” can be found in “The Beautiful Space- A Journal of Mind Art, and Poetry.”
