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“What is it? What’s wrong?” I said as I rushed into the sitting room after him.
“It’s alright, that’s a good boy. You’ll be alright.” Lestat said in a trembling voice. He was kneeling on the floor with Mojo, holding his head in his lap and stroking his graying fur. Mojo whined softly every few seconds. I noticed his tail wasn’t wagging; it lay limp on the carpet. Lestat looked up at me, eyes wide and full of concern. “He can’t get up. He can’t move.”
My heart sank like a stone.
“Merde. Come on, we’ll take the car.”
“No. Too slow.” He gently scooped Mojo into his arms and carried him past me. “I’ll take us there.”
“Lestat, wait!” I followed him out the back door and onto the balcony over the courtyard. “You can’t! How will we explain–”
“Hold onto me, Louis.”
I saw the look in his eyes and realized he would be gone in a moment, with or without me.
I flung my arms around his shoulders and shut my eyes tight as I felt us rise into the air.
Within minutes we were landing on the pavement outside the emergency vet clinic. The young woman behind the counter looked up with a start as we came in.
“Oh my God, I didn’t hear you pull up!” she said.
“He can’t stand on his own. I found him like this, just a few minutes ago. I don’t know how long he’s–” Lestat stopped abruptly and I realized he was fighting back tears.
“Here, bring him back.”
She stood and led us around a corner and down a short hallway to an examination room. Lestat placed Mojo on the stainless steel island, but he didn’t leave his side. He stroked his head and massaged the mane-like ruff of his neck as he whispered to him.
“I’ll get the doctor,” the woman said as she left.
I joined Lestat in the center of the room, put one hand on his shoulder and the other on Mojo’s paw.
“He’s going to be fine. They’ll perform a surgery and he’ll be good as new.” Lestat nodded to himself as he spoke. “…Tell me he’s going to be alright, Louis.”
“Lestat…” I saw the tears welling up in his eyes and felt a wrenching pain in my chest. I sighed heavily and held him a little closer, pressed a kiss to his temple. “I’m with you, mon cher.”
He shuddered with a restrained sob and the door opened behind us.
“Evening. I’m Dr. Turner. Let’s see what we can do for, uh–”
“Mojo,” I said. I grabbed the box of tissues from the counter and handed it to Lestat. He took it and turned away as Dr. Turner came around the examination table.
“Mojo. Good name for a shepherd.” He glanced at Lestat as he pulled on a pair of latex gloves. “No need to play the tough guy for me. I’ve seen the biggest, burliest dock workers totally break down. Snot running into their mustache, the whole nine yards. Wouldn’t be human if you didn’t.”
“He just needs a minute,” I said.
Dr. Turner nodded sympathetically. He did a brief double-take when he looked me in the eyes; the harsh fluorescent lights made them especially striking, uncanny. His professionalism and the urgency of the situation won out and he focused his attention on Mojo instead. He felt along his hindquarters, lifted his tail and let it fall back down. I watched his expression become more grim as he went on. He retrieved an instrument from a drawer behind him and pricked one of the sensitive pads of Mojo’s back paw with it; no response. He sighed as he pulled off the gloves and dropped them in the trash.
“It’s a hell of a thing, Mr…?” he said.
“Louis. Just Louis is fine,” I said.
“It’s fairly common in German shepherds, Louis, when they reach old age. Degenerative myelopathy. Have you noticed him having trouble getting around before now?”
Lestat had composed himself somewhat and came back to the table, his face wiped clean of any potentially alarming trace of blood. “I suppose he’s been moving a little slower. It takes him a few tries sometimes to get up after a nap. I thought it was normal, due to his age…” I saw the threat of tears resurface and quickly gave him another tissue from the box in his hands as he continued. “Could I have… Should I have brought him in sooner?”
Dr. Turner made a short dismissive motion with his hand and shook his head. “No, there was nothing you could have done. He’s not in any pain, just confused and scared, he doesn’t know what’s happening. Usually they lose–” We were all distracted by a trickling sound. Mojo had urinated on the table. He whimpered and looked up at Lestat as if expecting to be scolded, tried to pull himself forward by his front legs.
“Here, I’ve got it.” Dr. Turner tore off a length of paper towels. Lestat comforted Mojo, assured him it wasn’t his fault while the doctor cleaned up the mess. “As I was saying, they usually lose control of their bladder and bowels. Within a year he’ll most likely be completely paralyzed.” He washed his hands and turned back to us, leaned over the table and sighed. “I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do.”
Lestat didn’t look up, kept his head bowed over Mojo’s. “…What are our options? Is there medicine, surgery, something experimental? I don’t care how expensive it is, money is no object.”
Dr. Turner shook his head. “There’s no cure. And even with round-the-clock care, his quality of life wouldn’t be good. He can’t scratch himself or go for walks, he’d develop pressure sores, it’s just… not a course we recommend.” He looked at me. “Euthanasia is really the kindest choice here.”
Lestat was crying again, holding tight to Mojo, his face buried in fur. I put my hand on his back.
“Can you give us a moment?” I said.
“Of course.” The doctor gave me a sad smile as he left the room.
I stood there silently with Lestat, rubbing his back, digging for more resolve to keep my own emotions at bay.
“What if we tried…” Lestat murmured.
“Lestat, there’s nothing to try,” I said gently. “There’s nothing to be done. You heard–”
“No, not the doctor, us,” he looked at me, face streaked with red, a wild gleam in his eyes. “Me. My blood is more powerful. If it worked with a child it could work with–”
“No!” My voice rang more loudly than I had intended in the little room. I lowered it to a hissing whisper. “How could you even… Look, you don’t know what you’re saying. You’re upset. Here, sit down and–”
“It could work!” He ignored my hands trying to guide him to a chair and rubbed Mojo’s head and neck. “You’re strong enough for it, aren’t you boy? Yes, so strong. You don’t fear anything. You’re perfect for it. Perfect.”
“Lestat!”
“I hear them, the doctor and the woman. They’re coming back. Block the door, Louis.”
“Lestat, stop! Let him go!” I pulled him away from Mojo and held his face in my hands, made him look at me. My own tears welled up suddenly, spilled over. “You have to let him go.”
His breath came unevenly as he looked at me. More tears rolled down his cheeks as he looked back at Mojo, lying helpless on the cold metal.
“I… I can’t.” He held close to me and sobbed into my chest. “I can’t, Louis, I can’t.”
“Shhh, it’s alright. You’ll be alright.” I tightened my arms around him. “You can, mon cher. You can.” When I heard footsteps coming down the hall I pulled away and grabbed the tissues for both of us. “We will.” When the doctor had reached the door and knocked politely I wiped the last bit of red from Lestat’s chin and offered a weak smile. “Together, hm?”
He couldn’t manage a smile, but he closed his eyes and nodded.
“Come in,” I said.
The woman from the front desk followed behind Dr. Turner, carrying a small tray with syringes and glass vials neatly laid out. The doctor handed me a document and a pen.
“We just need the owner to sign this.”
Lestat took it from me and scrawled his looping, flourished signature, then quickly handed it back, as if he couldn’t bear to look at it.
“Alright then,” Dr. Turner said as he tucked the paper into a manila folder. “We’ll sedate him first, so he doesn’t feel any pain or panic when we do the intravenous injection. You’ll have a few more minutes in between, while he goes to sleep.” He tilted his head and leaned sideways a little, trying to make eye contact with Lestat. “Are we ready?”
Lestat looked up hesitantly, almost sheepishly, like a child. He nodded.
Dr. Turner nodded to the woman. “Go ahead, Jenny.”
She administered the first injection, then she and the doctor stepped out again so we could say our goodbyes.
“You’re the best dog in the world, you know that?” Lestat whispered to him. “Even Louis likes you. Isn’t that right?” He looked at me.
“It’s true,” I stroked Mojo’s side, felt it rise and fall a little more slowly.
Lestat smiled. “See, what did I tell you?” He kissed Mojo’s brow as his eyes drifted shut. “And if Louis likes you, then you must be very special, indeed. He doesn’t give his affection to just any old mutt off the street.”
I snickered. “Don’t I? And what are you, then?”
Lestat laughed. He hugged Mojo. The laughter turned back to tears.
I held his hand while they did it.
I saw their furtive glances, Dr. Turner and Jenny.
I just held on tighter.
Jenny left first, taking the tray and the paperwork. Lestat was still hunched over Mojo’s motionless form when Dr. Turner stood.
“You can discuss options for handling the remains with Jenny up front.” He went to the door and stopped short of opening it. I turned to find him looking at me, nervously twirling the pen between his fingers. “And look, I know I probably shouldn’t say this, but…” He looked down at his feet, back up at me. “My partner and I, we lost our cat a few months back. Marley. That was the cat’s name, not the, uh, boyfriend’s. His name is Scott.” He cleared his throat and tucked the pen into the pocket of his lab coat. “Anyway I, I know what it’s like. He was inconsolable for days. But it’ll pass, just… just be there for each other.” He smiled briefly, nodded and turned to go. His face was red. “Alright then, I’ve made just about enough a fool of myself, I think. Y’all take care.”
“Thank you,” Lestat said, his voice muffled in fur.
Dr. Turner paused halfway through the door. “Of course,” he said warmly before disappearing down the hall.
We made arrangements for Mojo to be kept there for a day or two, until we had decided where to bury him. They suggested cremation at first but we dismissed that idea immediately; so abruptly, in fact, that Jenny was a bit taken aback.
We had walked half way back to Rue Royale before Lestat stopped.
“We flew.” He had a vaguely confused look on his face. “I forgot I flew us there. I think I forgot that I could.” He laughed softly. “How strange.”
I doubled back to him and took his hand, kissed the back of it.
“It’s a good night for walking anyway. Come on.”
I took us down Frenchmen Street, past the bars where they played live music, local music. It was early in the evening and the crowds were small; jovial but not too rowdy. He smiled every now and then when we passed a band he liked the sound of. We stopped outside one venue and watched from the street.
“Shall we go in?” I said after a moment.
His eyes brightened a bit more and he nodded.
“Hey, Lestat! Long time no see!” a man called out from a table near the door.
Lestat smiled and raised his hand in greeting.
“Come on in, have a seat!” The man leaned over, looked down at our feet. “No Mojo today?”
Lestat’s smile cracked, faltered. He squeezed my hand painfully.
I made a hasty apology to the man and took us home.
Lestat kept his composure the rest of the way down Rue Royale, through the front door, all the way up the stairs and into his bedroom. Then he saw Mojo’s empty bed next to the hearth and he fell apart. I led him to the bed and sat him down, removed his shoes, then my own. I laid down with him. When my own feeling came flooding back I didn’t resist it. I held him close and let it go.
The next night the doorbell rang a few hours after I had risen. I opened the door to find an ashen-haired young man, slightly disheveled in worn flannel and faded jeans, holding a stack of VHS tapes.
“Daniel? What are you doing here?”
“Hey, Louis. Uh, good to see you too.” He shifted on his feet and made a forward motion with the tapes. “Mind if I come in? Wanna get these out of the humidity.”
“Um, yes, please.” I stepped aside, closed the door behind him. He deposited the stack on the side table. “What are those?” I asked.
“The Adventures of Milo and Otis, Beethoven, Air Bud,” he shuffled through the first few tapes as he read off the titles. “Movies where the dog doesn’t die. I think there’s… ah, yeah, here it is.” He pulled one from the bottom, handed it to me. “K-9. Might wanna hold off on this one. He doesn’t technically die, but there’s a whole scene at the vet where you think he has. Not that great if I’m honest, but there aren’t a lot of German shepherd movies to choose from.”
I looked at the cover, turned it over, looked up at Daniel. “How did you…?”
“Armand picked up on it, told me this morning before bed. Probably for the best if we don’t think too hard about how he figured it out so fast, huh? Anyway,” he tapped the tapes. “I raided his collection first thing tonight and headed over.” He offered a lopsided smile. “Figured you could use some help. And I knew none of the rest of the ‘Coven of the Immaculate’ or whatever the fuck they call themselves would step up to the plate. Bunch of self-absorbed assholes… No offense.”
I laughed, and it took me by surprise how genuine it was.
“None taken.” I put the tape down with the others. “I would invite you to stay, but I don’t think–”
“No worries, I get it. He’s got an image to maintain. Can’t have us lowly peasant blood suckers see him at his…” Daniel’s gaze shifted to focus behind me as he trailed off.
I turned to see Lestat at the end of the foyer, watching us quietly.
“Look who it is,” Daniel said. “Speak of the devil, huh?” He gestured to the tapes. “I brought these over for ya.” His face fell somewhat suddenly. “Ah shit, you guys do have a VCR, right? I didn’t even think to ask, I’m so used to Armand’s setup.”
“Yes. Yes, we do,” Lestat said as he joined us. He smiled a little as he picked up K-9; the dog on the cover was almost identical to Mojo.
“Oh, well that’s good. Hey, so I was telling Louis, you might wanna hold off on that one for now, it’s–” Daniel was cut off as Lestat pulled him in for a hug.
“Thank you, Daniel,” he said.
Daniel was taken aback for a moment. He raised his eyebrows at me and chuckled, returned the embrace tentatively.
“Yeah, no problem.” When Lestat didn’t let go, Daniel patted him on the back. “Man, I know how it is. I had a dog when I was a kid, we grew up together. They’re like family.”
Lestat pulled back and kissed him once on each cheek. “You’re a good friend, Daniel,” he declared before taking the tapes with him up the stairs.
Later, as I was fast-forwarding through the previews of the third tape of the evening, Lestat broke his pensive silence.
“Could we put him in your family plot?”
“In St. Louis?”
“Yes. I’d like that. I want him close.”
I pressed play and put down the remote, took his hand and squeezed it.
“Of course we can,” I said.
I briefly pondered how I would manage sneaking a dog into the oldest cemetery in New Orleans, then set it aside to focus on the movie.
I’d find a way.