She lies on the wooden table, a blanket covering her hind quarters. She looks tired, but not exhausted. That must be the methadone.
Dr. Fauna stands silent, staring at me, but not looking at me. She seems caught in thought, her eyes scanning a bigger picture of my current state. I wish I could see through her eyes. Mine don’t seem to be functioning quite right. What I see was my dog sitting on the table that came up to nearly the top of my leg. My Winona. My family's Winona. This couldn’t be right. This couldn’t be real
And she's smiling.
But an hour ago, she wasn't. And it’s my fault.
I blink. I saw her this morning while my family and I were having breakfast. I got to see them off as they went to Canterlot. Winona chased squirrels in the orchard this morning while I bucked apples. All smiles. All wags.
"I do think you're making a very understandable, humane decision, Applejack," Dr. Fauna says. "She was getting very old."
"I know," I say, my words feeling far off and empty. I wish I could say something else. I wish I could reassure the doctor that I am going to be okay. I'm sure it’s difficult for her too. It can't be easy to watch, no matter how many times it happens to a vet. I feel bad, guilty even. It’s not right that I have to make another pony shoulder even an ounce of this weight that threatens to buckle my hooves and snap my spine.
I try to moisten my tongue and say a few more words without my voice cracking.
"I think I'd like a few moments alone, please."
Fauna nods silently, then steps outside of the stagnant examination room. I draw a shallow breath. Winona's eyes are focused on me once the doctor leaves the room. It’s just me, and her.
I know that animals are much smarter than we give them credit. Winona knows she's sick. ‘Infected’, was Fauna's word. Fault wasn't a question or ever brought up, but I know exactly where it lies. It churns my stomach.
It felt like I had only blinked. Maybe if I hadn’t blinked, then I never would have missed what had been hurting her. I could have seen the signs of her ailment. Then she wouldn’t be here right now, on this table. Then she would be okay. It just happened too fast. Maybe I’m just blind. Maybe I’m just a bad pet owner.
No. Stop. I can't dwell on the "what if's", "could have's", or "should have's" right now. She will sense my mood and realize what's happening. I don't want that to be on her shoulders. It should be peaceful. Easy.
At least... maybe I won’t feel like such a bad pony in all of this.
My breath comes out in a fragile wisp as I step beside her. She pants happily, but slowly. Laboredly. A vision enters my head of the crimson grass. The delicate whimper. I close my eyes and get down on her level, pushing the thought from my mind.
"Hey girl," I say in my gentle, caring tone. "How ya doin?"
I open my eyes and she makes direct eye contact with me. I feel her hot panting on my skin. Her breath smells just like normal. I can see the edges of her mouth where she chewed her gums scarlet on a rawhide bone. I spoiled her with on her birthday. That poor thing didn't even last two days. I can't help but smile, although tears well in my eyes. Just last night she was cuddled up with me on my bed. One last time.
That’s when I should have known. Winona always patrols the house. Every night I would fall asleep to the gentle tacking of her nails on hardwood. I'd wake up to her scratches at my bedside table when she needed to step outside for doggy business. She almost never sleeps in my bed with me. Never. I should have-
I catch myself as a tear drips down the side of my face.
"At least we got to your twelfth birthday, huh girl?" I say with every ounce of warmth that I have in me.
She doesn't seem to react. She sniffs at the air while looking around the room. I reach a hoof out and scratch the back of her exposed ear. I feel my body tremble as hers shakes. My words are caught in my throat.
"I know that Gran, Mac, and Applebloom really wish they were here, girl," I whisper. "But I know if they were, they'd tell you how much they love you. How you were the perfect dog... How..."
My voice trails once more because I feel myself choking up. I cannot break. I will not break.
I glance down to the entry point the vet has made in her paw. Her delicate little paw. Still strong. My mind tricks me into thinking that all of this is some sort of sick prank. She could stand up on all four paws right now and we'd head home and everything would go back to normal.
However, I also know that... I could. I could make that happen. Three days in intensive care. I could take a mortgage out on the farm. I could work an extra job somewhere and harvest until the sun goes down.
But, I can't. I can't risk everything for-
Winona pulls her paw away from my hoof and places it down on top of mine.
She makes eye contact with me, again. Her mouth curls at the ends into that smile. That signature smile that would make the bad days better. Even when I was a filly, she would come to me with her little red ball, wearing her wonderful smile, and it could pick me up out of the darkest storm cloud.
I don't have Fluttershy's way with animals. I don't claim to be a vet. And maybe I'm just tricking myself into thinking what I wanted to hear.
But I swear, with just a look, she said...
"It's okay. I understand."
And then my knees give away. A tingling numbness overwhelms my form. I feel my world shatter around me until there’s nothing but me and my best friend. Warm streams run down my face. I hear somepony in the room crying. I close my eyes and lay my head on her. My ear presses against her neck and I listen to that gentle, faint pulsing of her heart. I know if it wasn't for the drugs, she would be in pain.
I can't let my best friend be miserable.
I can't force her to be unhappy just because I'm not ready to be without her.
I have to do this.
"Okay," I call out, with some voice other than my own.
I lift my head and blink away the blur from my vision. I lock eyes with her. I try to communicate back to her with whatever power I have in my soul, in my body, in my cutie mark, that I love her.
Dr. Fauna enters the room. Her hoovesteps echo off the walls.
"There will be three shots," she says. "One to clean, one to put her to sleep, and one to..."
Her voice trails off, and I nod. I keep looking into her eyes, unmoving.
'I love you, Winona,' I think.
In the peripheral, I see the first shot. I feel a lump in my throat swell. I feel like I'm being forced to breathe through a wet towel; drowning on dry land.
I try to ignore the second shot. Her body becomes still, no longer shaking. An unnatural stillness. She breathes out, just like if she were ready to sleep.
"I love you, Winona," I say, realizing that faraway voice is my own. "I'm sorry."
She lays her head down on my hoof. Her eyes close, and I feel her breathing against me. I bite my lip.
Then, the third.
Her body rises, then falls. The warm, humid breeze on my hoof disappears.
"I'll never forget you."
And then, I blink.