A Love Story II

Yesterday as I wrote A Love Story I was preparing myself mentally for what was about to happen and trying to deal with my fear and dread by giving words to the feelings. I found that I was not at all prepared and that what I had supposed would be a most difficult thing to do was, in fact, almost impossible for me. It was a black day. Today feels lonely with heaving sobs escaping each time I let my guard down. I see some reminder of RC everywhere I look.

When I walk through the family room, I automatically veer to the left so as not to step on his big fluffy bed. It’s the spot where he spent those days when there was no sun outside. I still see him there.

Last night I shut myself in the utility room where RC slept every night. I turned off the light and sat in the spot where we put his bed each evening, leaned against the wall and sobbed until there was nothing left inside. As I sat there in the quiet as my sobs died down, I could hear George walking around upstairs and the water running in the bathroom sink as he brushed his teeth, even the drone of the tv in the bedroom. I realized that these were RC’s night sounds. These were the last sounds he heard each night as he drifted into sleep…they were his safe sounds, his sounds of home and the people he loved. And I felt him there.

I wanted to feel close to him today so I pulled out an entry I had posted on the old Open Diary when he first became ill and began to have his seizures. To my surprise, the entry was dated March 7, 2001 and in it I mentioned that he had his first seizure just a few days prior. I’m glad I didn’t know we only had one short year left with him, but I’m so thankful we had that time.

I want to put this here, because I want it to stay with me and mingle with everything that is now.

RC

The first time I saw him, he was so full of life that his skin could barely contain him. His tail wagged like a lone windshield wiper gone berserk, as it shook his entire body from side to side. His feet two-stepped on the tile floor as his body swayed, his eyes never leaving mine as if he knew I would disappear if he lost eye contact. Those eyes, the most beautiful liquid brown I had ever seen, silently pleaded with me to open the door.

I leaned over and released the catch, opening the door and stepping into the cage with him. He tensed. Every muscle and bone in his body wanted to jump up on me, plant his front paws on my chest and lick my face until I loved him, but now that I approached him, something held him back. As our eyes each held the other prisoner, I felt his pain and longing as though I were in his skin. He was frightened and alone, with no understanding of where he was or what had happened to the people he had loved.

The sheet on the door read: “Lab mix, male, approximately 6 months old. Excellent health. No danger to children or other animals.” No reason was given as to why his family had given him up. I wondered if he missed them and if there had been children for him to romp and play with. I looked once more into those eyes and I was a goner…we left together that day.

During his ten years on the farm, RC reigned supreme. He, in fact, ruled the entire rural area in which we lived. When we went for an evening walk, the other dogs languidly lying at the end of their drives would get up and make a hasty retreat before we came abreast. I always found this amazing, as we had always witnessed only the most gentle of behavior in RC.

He was about 4 years old before he discovered girls and then chose one of dubious character and loose morals. He was completely in love and impossible to keep home. He had a well worn trail cut from our lower pasture to her place. We often spied him slowly making his way back home at dusk, smiling from ear to ear. He had two good seasons of fun before we made the decision to visit the vet. I often thought it might have been less cruel to have done it sooner before he had full knowledge of carnal pleasures. He kept trudging his old trail for a few months, but that hussy was already off and running with some new dude. Eventually, the trail became overgrown.

We wondered some years ago how he would fare when we sold the farm. He’d never known anything but wide open spaces and complete freedom. Now, he’d be living in a subdivision with a kennel out back. We worried in vain, as he adapted immediately! We even began to let him come inside in the evenings, where he was introduced to television, carpeting, forced air heat and ice-cream treats after supper. He kept his lust for life and became the neighborhood favorite. All out-of-town visitors to our street were brought down to meet RC and most of them returned home with a souvenir snapshot taken with him.

RC’s muzzle is grey now, as are his sideburns. He walks much more slowly these days and has arthritis in his hips. Some mornings it takes him several minutes to pick himself up to a standing position to be taken outside. Sometimes we have to lift his hips for him to get going. He’s in the house with us all the time now and a silent witness to all that goes on in our family. We are gentle with him, and patient.

One day last week RC had a seizure. It was the first and only one he’s ever had and I felt I would lose him right then. I felt hopeless as I watched his body convulse and he lost control of his bladder. As I tried to comfort him and let him know I was there, I dialed our vet and tried to make them understand what was happening. No, there was nothing I could do, just be there with him and stay close when he came out of it. I was told he would be disoriented for sometime and may not know me.

When it was finally over, I washed his face clean of the drool and cleaned up the urine. I held him and assured him of my love. He pressed against my face as if it were me who needed the comfort. I helped him up and we began to walk in circles. We did that for over two hours. Circles in the house, out the door and circles outside…over and over…over and over. Finally, he tired and lay down to rest. By nightfall there was no sign of the earlier episode. He’s returned to his old self and seems fine, aside from the arthritis.

But I watch him more closely now and kiss him more often. He naps more frequently and for longer periods of time. When he makes those wonderful noises in his sleep, I know he’s running across the lower pasture to his secret trail through the woods. He is dreaming and remembering.

I just walked over and gave him a hug. He looked up at me and through the milky clouds those eyes are still the most beautiful liquid brown I have ever seen.

I love you RC.