Decisions, not a strong suit of mine. But the one to keep you alive? “Unkind” was the choice word used, resting between syllogism and veterinarial advisement. In retrospect, a thought to all the personal effects in my life that need to be euthanized; you my gentle friend, were never one of them. But short of a torturous preservation; options run scarce and limited time has been critical placed on hypothetical.

My request, remember me not as this grim personification. For I am nor judge, nor jury; merely just another executioner. And as the final drop of indigo fluid trickles through the glassy coma of pentobarbital, there won’t be the slightest of victories. Only hypocritical guilt and shame; along with the overwhelming desire to never be asked of the horrific things that I have done.