Friday, February 09, 2007

Ain't Nothin but a Hound Dog
Walker is dying. He has been experiencing kidney failure for a couple of months, and has gone downhill, losing his chubbiness and morphing into skin and bones, rather quickly. We know he will die soon, but that knowledge doesn't make it any easier. Oh how I wish it did.

I bought him a sweater last Sunday since he is so thin and he shivers all the time. Gypsy said I was for sure trying to kill him by making him wear the thing in front of the other dogs. The humiliation!

He went outside Wednesday night and didn't come home. Hubby was up until 1:30 looking for him, calling him home. Thursday morning we were convinced that he had gone off to die alone, as dogs are programmed to do. Bundled up against the 20 degree cold and the light wind, we followed Mandy as she acted Sacagawea, leading us on their many trails worn into the fields that are part of the vigilant routine of protecting their humans. After looking in and under everything and an hour of the chill creeping into our bones, we gave up. Tears streaming down our faces, we knew we would have to wait until the turkey vultures and Spring told us where he had gone. And as I was driving to school to get the Princess from kindergarten, who do I see staggering up through the front pasture, but the ghost of Walker's old self - old skin and bones meandering toward the house in his ridiculous turtleneck sweater that makes him look like some old, stodgy, pipe-smoking professor.

He has been resting comfortably in a blanket or two since then. He slept with us last night, and I fell asleep with tears and snot puddling on my pillow. This morning he had a little chicken and rice soup, which I had heated for too long in my morning distraction and had to cool with ice cubes so he could lap it up. He is stretched out on the carpet, waiting for a sunbeam to warm his too thin body, but I don't think they will come along today to help him out. It looks really gray and cold, and I feel really gray and cold.

Walker dying with all this time to "prepare" gives our family a chance to love on him, hug him, and tell him goodbye. None of us had that opportunity when my father and hubby's uncle died, and I think we are both dealing with some of those feelings of regret surrounding the circumstances of their deaths. I thought it was very strange when Gracia Burnham, the Kansas Missionary whose husband died in a raid to free them from the Philippine captors who held them hostage, said of her husband "He died a good death." I am not sure I understand what she was trying to say, but I guess that is all we can hope for - a good death.
posted by Rosie @ 2/09/2007 09:08:00 AM

3 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home