I stabbed the edge of the shovel into the ground and pulled back a corner of the earth. The rich dark, soil had a vine of pink flowers clinging to the top of it. Snapping off big clovers by the fistful I lined the hole left behind, leaving no soil showing through the layers of green. It still looked cold and damp. I gently lifted her and laid her down on the blanket of clovers. Her paralyzed legs pulled her to the side, but she lifted her head and looked at me every time I got nearer. I pulled back and she let her body fall as it willed. For a moment I thought she had died and felt relief, but when I leaned in closer she perked up. “Of course not” I thought.
She had said that it would be most humane to hit the spot on the back of her head just above her neck. I found a rock and gently repositioned her so I could see where to aim. She kept listing to the side. Taking deep breaths I repositioned her again, and then brought the rock down hard. The earth beneath her head sank in and I hit her again. Terrified that she might still have even a hint of life and therefore of her pain, I hit her one more time. Her bladder gave up and she wet herself. It was then that I knew she was dead. There was a life and a light, and then it was gone. It was then that I knew the death of this mouse would not be unlike my own physical death. The difference being only in the details, and the question only being “when”.
