For the Love of Chunk

One thing I have have become increasingly aware of as I have tried to make my way back to the world of relatively “normal” and healthy people is that my brain just does not work the way it used to. My short term memory is all over the place, but is especially bad when I am in stressful situations.

Stress isn’t always bad. I was stressed when I was tutoring at the middle school and when I tutored my friend over Zoom in college algebra, but I loved every minute of it. I also made embarrassing mistakes that I’d never have made before the encephalitis. I could laugh about it and use it to show my pupils that math is not always easy and everyone can make mistakes.

We were not nearly ready to load up and go as we had hoped to be. There was still much to pack when our helpers and drivers arrived. What we believed should have fit in a 26 ft U-Haul and a 12 ft utility trailer, ended up requiring a second U-Haul and loading stuff into our pickup and the van, which was being towed behind the pickup.

We had tried everything to find a camper shell before we left North Carolina. We could not find a used one, new ones were way too expensive, and the soft top that would have been perfect couldn’t get here on time.

It was decided that the dogs and cat would go into the van. We would keep the windows down as necessary, and run the a/c when we could. We had water bottles for them, a soft cushion. Handsome was in a large dog crate with a litter box, a bed, and water of his own.

Our plan was to leave early on Thursday morning. We didn’t leave our house until about 9:00 PM. We were all exhausted. None of us really knew what was in which vehicle. We drove until about 3:00 AM, when we stopped at a Motel 6 in Wytheville, VA. We all got our rooms and the dogs went in with Drew and me. Handsome stayed in the van. It was nice and cool and we’d be up and on the road again, early.

In the morning, Drew’s back was killing him, so he was moving slowly. I decided to take the dogs out without him.

We walked around so they could go potty, and then I grabbed their bowls out of the van and headed down a hill to where they’d had to park the U-Hauls and the utility trailer. It was a bit of a hike for an out of shape woman with an ankle that has never recovered from the bed disassembly mishap, so when we got down there, I was pretty out of breath from having to wrangle the dogs on the way down. Imagine my frustration when I got down there and the key Drew had told me to get was not the correct key!

So, grudgingly, I trudged back up the hill to get the correct key from Drew. As we approached the van, the dogs were excited to get in. I was trying to get them back into the room, but they were so excited, I put them in the van, planning to grab Drew and get moving.

Drew was soaking in the tub. I was frustrated because I’d wanted to get on the road. I was getting messages from our two drivers, and I was doing my best to stay calm.

And whatever amount of time passed felt like a just a few moments.

A few moments was all it took.

When we finally made it back to the van, the sight that I encountered will haunt me until my dying day. My beautiful, precious babies, were all in distress. They were gasping. They were panting. They were drooling. They were piled in a heap on one another. Handsome lay screaming in his litter pan. I froze in panic. Drew and our two drivers hustled to get water to them, to open all the doors and windows, and to get everything ready so that we could get moving and cool things off.

I stood there. Trying to remember how long it had been. What was I thinking? I know better than to leave a living thing in a vehicle with the windows up. But it hadn’t seemed that hot. But it doesn’t have to be that hot. I’m so sorry, Babies. Mama loves you so much. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. Please don’t leave me.

At our next stop, they all seemed better. They were no longer panting. Their heads were up and they seemed to be improving.

We stopped frequently all that day, and on one of our afternoon stops, Opie and Despereaux went out to walk. Chunk was laying on his side, hardly moving. I went to him, pet him, and tried to get him to drink water or Gatorade. He seemed to be trying to get up, but just couldn’t seem to get his body upright.

I pushed the bed out of the way, and it was soaked. He had peed on it. He hadn’t been trying to get up. He was having seizures. One of our drivers put Opie and Despereaux in his truck. With Chunk seizing, it would be too hard to put him in the other truck. Drew and the drivers were all offering different suggestions for what should be done. One went as far as to yell at me that we weren’t doing enough.

I cried for the rest of the day. I couldn’t check on him, myself, for fear of what I might find.
On the last stop before Nashville, Chunk was gone. Drew was heartbroken. Kevin, Drew’s brother, cried with us. Everyone was crying and sorry. Chunk was gone.

I sat with Chunk and cried and kissed his massive, velvety golden head. I’m so sorry, My Beautiful Boy. My sweet, goofy, loving, beautiful baby boy.

I found a vet in Nashville that was open 24/7. They said they would take him, cremate him, make a paw impression and send the remains and the paw print to us at our new address. We had to wait outside the vet for them to come get him. Drew and I sat with him and said our heartbroken goodbyes.

I desperately wanted to blame Drew for not being ready when we got back. I wanted to blame my ex-husband for giving me the virus that caused the encephalitis. I wanted to blame capitalism for making everything so damned expensive (and all of its other evils). I probably even found a way to blame Trump.

But ultimately, I was the one who put them in that van with no windows open.

With my rational brain, I know that Chunk is not angry with me. But I imagined that they were all angry with me for making them suffer and costing them a brother. They all behave differently, and when I thought of Chunk, all I could see was that awful gasping when I first opened the van.

The next morning, I took Opie and Despereaux to the little dog park at our hotel. I was thinking of all the former critters that would be there to meet them. His mama, Katy. Tootsie, Adina’s chihuahua who would steal their ball and run off with it. Magnum, my fist baby boy. Even cranky Kitty. And then I had the most beautiful vision of my beloved Papa walking Chunk across that Rainbow Bridge into that golden glow.

I sent my mom a message telling her all about my vision. Then I realized that, grammatically, I had just referred to Papa as a critter, and I could hear his laugh. I could never hear Papa’s laugh and not feel joy; and that was the first message that Chunk sent to me.

Along the way, images of wolves were showing up in unexpected places, and always when I was beginning to cry again. The first was as I was finishing up at a mini market. The cashier told me to have a great trip. My broken heart grumbled something under my breath and headed for the door. Right where my hand would go to push the door open was the picture of a wolf. It made me smile. I though maybe I really was getting messages from my boy.

The next came as we were driving through Wyoming, I think. I was leaning my head against a window, and trying to hold back the tears. Drew said, “Babe,” and pointed out the window. On his side of the road, up on a hill, was a giant silhouette of a wolf sculpture. I looked at Drew and he smiled. He knew what it meant to me.

Before I close this extraordinary rambling note, I want to tell you about the great idea that Kevin had. He suggested we start a non-profit to help people with animal expenses. He, Drew, Adina, Audra, and I have been throwing ideas into the pot, and even resurrecting my indoor dog park idea. This is something I really want to do in remembrance of a tragic and unnecessary loss

I will be called: