The Regret

What hurts the most, Regret or failure? Ahh, that age old question. We can go on and on, can't we? But you already know what my answer would be. It is right there in the title. Regret

While failure often inspires us to succeed, regret only haunts us to make our lives miserable. Failures are false positives. Regrets are false negatives. One is pain while the other is a burden. Hmmm. Got the rough idea?  On to my story, then!

I've always been an empathetic person. I often think how one person would feel if they were subjected to a particular situation I was in. And of course, vice versa. But that in no way means I haven't hurt anybody. I have. Numerous times. And I learned from my mistakes. Horrible mistakes.

But that is not relevant when you think about how much you've grown. And all the matter is what you are now, right? What all those things that you went through molded you into. A better person, perhaps? Or a wounded one. Scarred for life, if you will. I, for one, belong in the latter group. A bit in the former too, in my not-so-humble opinion.

"My past rendered me more thoughtful. Maybe because of all the pain it inflicted."

I am writing this, not in the hopes of creating content but for merely expressing my emotion regarding the matter. And to shed light on something that deserves it. Of course, it does not matter as what happened, happened and can never be changed. Writing about this would be futile in a sense, but that is what we are all about, aren't we? Doing something, not because it makes sense but because we feel like it.

So allow me to walk down the valley of futility with a weeping heart that has stories to tell. Stories that are personal., which you (assuming someone other than the author is reading) may not be able to relate. But I'll do my best.

So allow me to talk about my most recent regret/tragedy, which undoubtedly was one among the worst in my book. I believe it will do justice to the entry, too. And I also believe it will hide itself from people who don't deserve to see it. *Winks*

Have you ever come across a person who loves dogs more than people? well, I AM THAT GUY. Seriously, I Truly am! and this story is about my love for dogs and how that love set off a chain of unexpected unfortunate events that struck the very inner parts of my soul. So, Shall we?

My classes were over, and I  had nothing to do on Christmas vacation. We went to a pet shop in our area to purchase some fishes for our fish tank (which was empty at the time). I drove. Mum in the co driver's seat. At the entrance, I saw a bunch of new plastic cages. They were the new arrival there. Puppies!

I froze for a moment and shortly crept slowly towards each to admire them all, individually. My eyes were twinkling. There was a white Pomeranian, a tiny German Shepherd and two little Dachshunds. I remember being so happy that moment. Then my gaze fell upon the cutest of the bunch. A puppy Labrador Retriever. It was so adorable that I had to turn a blind eye to the rest of them.

But then I controlled myself. Walked into the store and purchased the fishes. 2 Goldies and 4 *generic* white fishes. While driving back to my home, the only thing in my mind was the lab pup I saw in the shop. I could not stop thinking about it. But I had to. There was no chance of my mum buying it for me. First of all, my home and my neighbourhood were not at all apt for having a dog (which was made very clear to us by the one dog we had years ago, A white Pom named 'Parasite'). Secondly, it was the high time for expenses... Christmas! I could not possibly ask her to buy me the lab pup after all the stuff she had bought me previously. Adding to that, the Lab pup was the most expensive of the lot. Thirdly, my mum.... she hated dogs! It was later found that she doesn't, but I believed that some *past* experiences with the first dog (the white pom) made her slightly loathe them a bit. But she was a kind women, though. A very kind woman.

That day, noon, I told her how I felt at the pet shop. It was not to manipulate her into buying me what I wanted. I never do that. She was an empathetic person. I knew she would understand. And she did. She nodded and then sighed. She quietly left the room after listening to what I had to say. I expected nothing more from her. It was just a wish.

Evening, I got a phone call from mum. "Adarsh, My scooter's tire got flat. I've parked it near J-Mart. Can you pick me up? I'll wait on the opposite side of the road". I grabbed my keys and left as soon as I could. When I reached, I saw Ma standing near the scooter, smiling, parked in front of the pet shop (which was apparently opp. to 'J-Mart'). I stopped my car right in front of her, got out and asked 'Which tire is it?' (I know, I'm stupid, right?). The picture of the pet shop was totally not on my mind. An evil grin spread across my mother's face.

I was sooooo thrilled. I was getting my own dog! my own cute little puppy! I stormed into the store. Pointed at the one I wanted. The storekeeper smiled as he handed me the pup. He could see how happy I was. I drove it to my home and let it free in the backyard. Ma reached home shortly. She just looked at me and my delight. And I was looking at my new friend! I hugged my mum saying "I love you soo much, Ammi..." happiness knew no bound that day. But I had no idea what was in store for me.

I named her 'Liz' after a dog from a book in the Famous Five series. I quickly bonded with this affectionate creature. She was very lovely. Even though I was a 19-year-old boy, I acted like a child whenever I was with her. She loved me a lot, too. It only took two days for her to learn her name. She was very brilliant and would always want to be with me. I had to put the metal leash on her to take photographs from a distance.

She always used to nip me (as she was a retriever) which I actually used to enjoy thoroughly. She was the world to me. So was I to her. Then quickly everything started to fall apart. I am not going to explain what happened in a detailed fashion as.. well.. for obvious reasons. (If read properly, the following text will ruin your mood to an extent)

She started showing some symptoms in evening of the second day. We were advised to give her Puppy treats soaked in water. And that is what we fed her. And yet she continued vomiting after each small meal. In the third day, the situation got worse. Even though in the play time all was well, after having her food she would just vomit it out. She started showing other symptoms of an upset tummy, too. I had no idea why this was happening. We were giving the best available food for puppies.

My mum went to a doctor in the evening of the third day, brought back some meds and fed her. It seemed liked her condition was getting better. But the fourth day has something else to offer: Even more symptoms. Liz's health got totally deteriorated. We both got scared. After making some calls, we found out the best veterinarian in town. We took Liz to his house on the evening of the fourth day. He was a very good man and attended Liz passionately. He injected two medicines and gave us some oral pills for her to swallow. We two went back home with some hope and fed her everything as he instructed.

I remember that evening when mum went inside to take the next batch of medicines, I walked upto her. Held her high, to my face. She was barely looking at me. She looked at me as if she knew what was going to happen to her. I clutched her close and spoke to her "Liz, don't leave me, okay?" I was trying my best not to just break down. I did not want my mother to know how upset I was about her. "Liz, don't leave me, DO NOT LEAVE ME" I said.

I kept her in my room that night. The clock struck twelve and I looked at her. She was just lying on the clothes I kept on the floor for her. I called out her name 'Lizzy'. She genuinely tried very hard to lift her head up and look at me. Yet she was very weak to move. At this point I almost knew. I had no courage left to see her die.

Two in the morning. I heard a grunting sound from the corner of the room. Loud grunts. I forced my head against the desk on the opposite corner of the room. Trying not to look at her. I just couldn't.

She made one last sound.. a very loud one. And then it was total silence. I did not move. I was just telling myself 'Nothing happened!... she's just sick. Nothing happened!'. After a while, I stood up, knocked on the door of Ammi's room. I spoke softly 'Ammi.. can you.. can you please.. come'. My voice broke. Ma sensed the despair in the tone of my voice. She knew.

Three in the morning. My mum stood up and walked toward Liz to pick her up. She did not want me to do it. But I stopped her "No, Ammi, I will do it. I should be the one to do it". Till this point, I really did not accept what happened. But reality kicked me right in the head as I picked her up.

She would always wriggle around and move her head with her tongue waving out of her mouth every time I picked her sweet little figure up. But this time, she did not move. As I picked her up, her head just fell, unsupported. That is when I broke, on the inside. I was utterly devastated when I saw her.. with no movement. Her eyes closed. Paws cold. And her head low. With a straight face, I walked out of the house to the backyard. I had to show my mum that I was strong. I could never let her know how traumatised I was.

I woke up that day after a brief 5 hours of 'sleep'. It was about 8 in the morning. The birds were chirping and the people were walking. Nothing had changed. But for one thing. There was no Liz.

I walked around the house that morning, avoiding my mother. I just needed some time alone. I stood at the place where we used to play. The ball caught my eye. The green plastic ball she used to play with.
"I'm sorry that I did not take care of you well enough while you were sick."
"I'm sorry that I often put you on a leash so you wouldn't go nip all the plants."
"I'm sorry I made you wait for your last breakfast."
"I'm sorry I pulled the leash a bit while walking you around the house."

It might have hurt her neck. Her small little neck! Even though I was gentle with it, it might have hurt her. Of course, I was exaggerating most of the things I did because I was feeling so.... guilty. So depressed.

I just couldn't take it anymore. I slowly walked into my room. Locked the door. I knelt down where Liz took her last breath. That corner. It was empty. I just stared at the void. On my knees, for the first time in years, I cried.

My biggest regret was that I was not with her in her final suffering. I could have sat near her, patting her back. Saying 'It's gonna be alright' even though we both knew the end was near. Ohh I wish I could have!!. Yet I did not. I was not strong enough. But still, I could have. Ohh why didn't I?

The floor was wet with my tears. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't speak. I just wept. I remember saying out loud but low enough so that my mother wouldn't hear me "I'm sorry, Liz". With my fist pressing firmly against the moist floor, I said 'I'm sorry....... Liz'.

My voice seemed caught in my throat as I struggled to form the words 'I'm really sorry....... Liz'.

I do not remember for how long I kept on saying that. All I can recall was that I was broken. And I had to vent the sorrow... the misery. I just do not remember how long I was on my knees... saying..

I'm Sorry, Liz.

*THE END*
Yes, the last two photos, they are of my Liz. Photographed by me on the second day.

Photo credits (The header photo): Matthew Henry.