How do you handle the weight of responsibility?

My dog is at the vets. Again. My dog goes to the vets without protest because at this point, the staff there are basically his step-parents. I’m sure he knows bad shit is about to go down when we park up, but he faces it with an air of resignation which can only come from multiple extended stays where he’s learned it's better to just accept his crummy fate. I’m living in a weird world where I get to go out for hours on end without worrying about the dog being alone whilst missing him a stupid amount and wishing he was here. 

I do not like responsibility. Responsibility means not letting other people down and making sure your loved ones are safe. The moment I’m left alone with my small and vulnerable niece I think, what if I drop her on her sizable but still undeniably fragile head? I do not wish to be anybody’s emergency contact for fear I’ll make the wrong medical decision and they’ll end up intubated when they’d previously been very firm about having a DNR. I always knew that if I had children of my own, my feeble brain wouldn’t be able to rise to the moment. What an inconceivable honour to be the reason a kid is alive and staying alive and what a crippling burden to know this every second of every day. I would insist we roll plastic bubble wrap around their entire bodies before attempting even the tamest climbing frame because what if they fell and I was in charge?? I watched a kid smack himself in the face with a swing he was pushing last week and even though it wasn’t anything to do with me, I had an immediate urge to get the fuck away from him for fear I’d somehow have to do something. So I didn’t have kids and I don’t have to worry about them, which is good I think. My brain couldn’t have handled making sure I’d blown out every candle before I went to bed (even on the nights there were no candles, that’s OCD baby!). 

But you make plans and God laughs right? So instead I have a dog who has bones made from silly putty and feta cheese and cannot do anything to help himself. He is entirely helpless in fact, and the responsibility is all on ME to make sure he’s happy and safe and not in pain. His face is so innocent, so open and sweet. He looks at me with total trust, as though he is a baby bird and I am his mother shortly coming to chew up worms and deposit them into his mouth. I hate this look because it reminds me of the crushing weight of responsibility I hold for this animal. And part of being someone or something else’s caregiver is knowing when the end should be. For pets, the saying is “better a day early than a day late.” It’s usually written in italics by someone who also uses the term “crossing the rainbow bridge” when an animal dies. I vehemently dislike this phrase despite it being entirely innocuous on the surface. I think it’s because you don’t need a euphemism for a creature who doesn’t even speak English. Linda, it’s ok to say your hamster died after his fifteenth escape went horribly wrong. Better a day early then, but when is that?