Don't you worry about Rex. Your father and I gave him to a nice farm family. Now he'll be able to run and jump and play outside all day long.
I know you loved Rex, but it just wasn't fair to keep him cooped up here in this tiny little house. We could tell he wasn't happy. Rex needed someplace where he could run around. We explained to Rex that we all love him very much, but that this was better for everyone, especially him.
Rex's new owners, the MacGregors, will love him every bit as much as we did. They promised to buy him his favorite food and spend many hours playing with him every day. We even sent along his red-checkered blanket and his favorite squeak toy. Rex will be very happy with the MacGregors.
As we drove away, Rex was barking and chasing a rabbit. He was so happy to be outside. He was smiling and yipping and running through a big field of daisies! We took some pictures, but we accidentally dropped the camera in the beautiful trout-filled stream that runs through the middle of the farm.
Rex is happier where he is now. He'll always remember you and love you, but now he can make lots of new animal friends on the farm. He won't be lonely while you're away at school all day. And he won't have to wait all day for us to get home to take him outside, so he won't go pee-pee on the floor, and daddy won't chase him out into the garage with his shoe.
Your father and I were thinking that maybe this weekend we could go and get some goldfish. You can name one Rex if you want.
Actually, what you've been told isn't exactly the truth. I was put to sleep at the vet. That one right around the corner from your house, in fact. Your parents went out to lunch afterwards—that's why they were gone so long.
As they drove off, I wasn't chasing any rabbits, and I wasn't frolicking in any daisy fields. No, I was crammed into a 3'x3' cage with a bunch of other doomed dogs, terrified beyond belief as I waited my turn to be put down.
On the upside, I wasn't in the cage very long. The vet soon took me out, injected me with 8 cc's of pentobarbitol, and that was that. So long, Rex, been good to know you.
After that, some veterinary assistant tossed my carcass into the back of a van along with those of a Siamese cat with leukemia, a 17-year-old German Shepherd, and a Fox Terrier that got hit by a car. About five hours later, we were all hauled off to be cremated. If you want to visit my ashes, they're in the gravel pit behind Al's Rendering & Cremation on Rand Road.
Your mom and dad didn't even wait until the deed was done. They just mumbled something about being late for another appointment, wrote the check, and made a beeline for the door. The vet asked them if they wanted my collar, and your mother just sort of looked puzzled and said, "What for?"
I suppose they did stay for a minute or two, mostly to haggle over the fee with the receptionist, but then—poof!—they were gone without so much as a "you've been a good boy."
From what I've heard, all this happened because I was digging in the plants. Just for the record, it wasn't me. I do happen to recall a certain member of the household making a racetrack for his Matchbox cars in the philodendrons, though. But what good would it do to name names now? I'm history.