Life in general has kept me from writing for a few months. For a while I kept up with my daily gratitude blog, but even that fell into the cracks a couple of weeks ago. I recently happened upon an RV bloggers Facebook group that seemed worthwhile joining, and I’m grateful for that–it was just the sparkplug I needed and came at just the right time. It’s great to be back writing!
A big part of why I stopped writing was the experience of losing a beloved pet while traveling. It was an unspoken fear that I kept hidden in the back of my mind for at least a year or two, since both of our pups were seniors, such as ourselves. When someone would comment on the advanced ages of our pups, I’d say that we were just walking one another Home. It’s the truth; the older we get, well, the closer it gets to the inevitable.
Biscuit was 14, a rescue, and a love. She loved everybody and assumed everyone loved her. And they did. She was Dave’s girl (his words, not mine) and he treated her royally. As in, cooking breakfast for her every morning and bestowing treats generously and unnecessarily. As for me, Biscuit was my walking buddy. When we workamped in Virginia, she and I hiked the trails every morning. She loved being off the leash and being able to investigate some new smell every once in a while and then race to catch up with me.
She came to us by way of someone, we think, who might have bred dogs for hunting. We’d been inside an antique shop in Fordyce, Arkansas when we heard commotion outside and went to investigate the matter. What we saw was a tiny pup wandeing around aimlessly in the street, apparently having been tossed out of a truck we saw driving away. There must be a way to determine if a dog will be a good hunter, and Biscuit must have failed the test miserably because she was definitely not a hunting dog. She did not like noise; even rain and especially thunder scared her. But she was the best pup.
While we were in Rockport, Texas this past winter, a lump we’d already had removed twice before had resurfaced. Dave talked about making an appointment with our vet in Arkansas when we got home, but I wasn’t keen about having her go through another surgery. Aside from the lump, her back legs often gave her trouble to where she couldn’t get herself up, so that was another matter. So often I’d have to pick all 40 pounds of her up and carry her outside to do her duty and then carry her back in. She’d been on pain meds for several years, but life had become a struggle anyway. Basically, Biscuit was fading quickly, and I silently wondered if she’d even make the trip back home. We were due to leave March 31st, a Friday.
That Monday found me outside cleaning outdoor items in preparation for storage and travel. Our neighbor across the street wandered over and, before I knew it, began telling me about having to put down his pup that very morning. I knew she’d been very sick and he’d been talking about euthanasia for at least a month. I just wasn’t prepared for it happening today. In his grief, my friend told me the exact process. The Rockport Veterinary Clinic was recommended to him, and from the sound of it, his experience was about as good as an experience like that could be. It impressed me that he said that the staff was sensitive and compassionate and that there was a nice, big field for pups to wander while they waited to be seen by the vet. After he left, I went inside for lunch and gave Dave the details. I didn’t know what he’d do with the information, but Biscuit was his dog and he needed to make the decision.
Much to my surprise, he called the veterinary clinic as soon as they re-opened after lunch and told them about Biscuit and that we had decided that we wanted to relieve her of her pain. Permanently. They said to come down and put Biscuit’s name on the list (they saw all their patients this way); the clinic operated on a first-come-first-served basis. Once there and on the wait list, we sat in silence in the car with Biscuit. Soon a vet tech came to the car and asked the necessary questions as sensitively as imaginable; what our neighbor had commented about the entire staff’s empathetic attitude was 100% true. The veterinary clinic was even able to cremate remains, so we picked out the urn we wanted for Biscuit. The ordeal was painful and painless at the same time. And surreal and emotionally draining. Then I took Biscuit outside so that she could lay in the cool grass. As I sat there with her I pondered our decision and knew in my heart it was the right thing to do…So why was it breaking?
After waiting about two-and-a-half hours, another tech came out to the car and said that it was time. Like so many times before, I hoisted Biscuit’s rear up so that she could stand and we slowly made our way to the building. It seemed to take a long time getting Biscuit to walk there, but the tech was understanding and said that it was ok, there was no rush. Once inside, she was weighed and we were ushered into a room. We didn’t have to wait long. The vet came in, introduced himself as Dr. Miller, and in a kind manner told us what would happen from then on: a sedative would be given first, and then the seizure medication, pentobarbital. This was one of the saddest days of my life, and yet the process of going through it was unfolding as perfectly as could be imagined. We stayed with Biscuit for several minutes after she passed, holding hands and just sobbing over her. The day had been so emotionally draining.
Late the next afternoon, we got a call saying that Biscuit’s remains were ready to be picked up. I was so happy! When we arrived there, we were treated as compassionately then as we were the day before, making the entire ordeal much easier to bear. We got to take Biscuit back home; she was in the urn we’d chosen with the puppy print on the lid. A sympathy card with Biscuit’s paw print was signed by the entire staff there. It was very touching. I can’t say enough good things about Rockport Veterinary Clinic. It certainly seemed that they had this particular process down to a science, and what a boon for travelers, of which there are many of us Winter Texans with senior pets.
The surrealness of this event lasted for days. We continued to prepare to leave, but our minds were clearly on Biscuit and ordinary procedures for departure were bungled. Like driving away with the electrical cord still connected to the post; that’s never happened to us in 18 years of RVing. In the three days it took us to drive home, we commented more than once that “Biscuit wouldn’t have liked this,” especially when we’d hit a pothole or when we encountered a thunderstorm in Durant, Oklahoma. Somehow, just talking about Biscuit soothed my aching heart. As does writing about her, I’m finding out.
If ever we doubted our decision, it was confirmed while it still was raining in Durant that one afternoon. I was inside the motorhome when I noticed the sun shining brightly, in spite of the rain. I wondered if there might be a rainbow, and lo and behold: Not one, but two! I knew right then and there that Biscuit was running and playing and having a grand time just across the Rainbow Bridge.
