Travels With No Charlie

Medford, Oregon, June 6, 2018 — This morning as usual, I got up and dressed, and then I took myself for a walk.

As some of you know, usually gooddog Charlie takes me for my morning walk, but not today. Because last night at 8 o’clock my good Charlie died.

And this morning when I returned from my walk, his body was still lying upon his bed, his eyes open as if seeing something very faint and very far away.

And he remained so very, very still.

What Happened

A year ago, on our morning walk to the little hidden park a block away, while I was petting him and putting his leash back on, I discovered a lump on his chest. About the size of a half lemon. A few days later, the vet said she didn’t know what it was, but we should take it out.

She quoted an amazing amount of money, and frankly I didn’t have it. And over this year, as I’ve been migrating my business from the previous thing to the new thing, a few times I was ahead, but thought it prudent to keep more of a cash reserve. And turns out it was a good thing I was prudent, several times. Or so it seemed.

It Grew and Grew, and then …

The lump on Charlie’s chest has been growing slowly. Charlie has aged during this year, but he’s an old dog, and his energy and appetite have remained good, and so we’ve gone from month to month, and never took the trip to remove it. But then in the evening, two days ago, just before I turned off the light to go to sleep, I looked over at Charlie, and he was bleeding. A lot.

On the phone I discovered there was only ‘open at night’ vet, so we drove there. By the time we arrived, the bleeding had stopped. They did nothing except charge $125 for seeing us at all, and it took them 90 minutes to do that, plus pitch us with a quotation of $350 for the visit, some pills, and a collar. I paid their $125 and we left.

I was completely fried by this time, from my alarm, the late hour, and my fright, and after coming home, from cleaning the floor as best I could. Finally, we went to sleep.

My Own Vet

In the morning a vet at our usual place confirmed that Charlie  had a malignant growth and it needed to come off. The vet gave me a lower price than the previous vet in the same office had done, and offered me some payment options. I took them, and left Charlie there for afternoon surgery.

At 5pm my options were to leave him overnight, unattended, or bring him home. I knew he would be OK or he wouldn’t, and I figured that if he were to die, he would rather do it in his home, and with me instead of being alone.

Then Things Turned Bad

As I so carefully carried him to his bed, he began to scream. Once laid down, he tried to stand, crying out because he couldn’t stand on the hardwood floor and from pain. I suppose the anesthetic was wearing off and my instructions were to start his pain meds the next day.

Then for an hour he would lie there, glassy-eyed and in a stupor, then suddenly try to leap up, scream and fall back. And after a while he began to pant and pant and pant. I’m ashamed to say I didn’t realize he was dying. I thought he was settling in. So I didn’t sit beside him. Now I so wish that I had.

Some time later he was breathing softly again, but then his chin began to twitch downward, every few seconds. And then that twitching grew slower, and stopped. And then I couldn’t see him breathing at all.

I crouched beside him, touching his ribs and expecting to feel a soft rise and fall. But lying there with his eyes open, there was nothing.

He had been home for only three hours.

He Was Gone

The vet had told me to keep him warm. Though it was silly, I replaced the towel over his body.

I slept a troubled sleep, and in my morning dream I was carrying his body in a large woven basket. Someone inquired what I was doing; and I told them I was carrying a dead dog.

I awoke, and as was our morning habit, I dressed and put on my boots, and went out for the walk.

I came back, and went about my business in a strange mind, until it was time for our morning appointment to return to the vet. I wrapped his stiff body in the towel, took Charlie to the vet, and made arrangements for his body to be destroyed. He will have no further use for it.

I returned to my work in a confusion, and after a while realized that I was exhausted.

I sat in my chair in the front room and dozed, and my head was filled with grateful images of our 13 years together. How he’d tilt his head when I asked him a question. The way he trotted ahead on our walk, and would sometimes stop and look back to make sure I was there. How he lept and jumped at dinner time. I’m so lucky. I’m so grateful he has been with me.

Haunted by a Small Ghost

And now as I go through my day, there are so many things out of place. There are two bowls on the kitchen floor. In the refrigerator, some bones I was saving for him, and broccoli I’d brought back from Panda Express. He likes broccoli. And his fortune cookie in the drawer. It says, “Your mind is creative, original, and alert.”

No, not any more, it isn’t.

Taking Myself for a Walk

I’ve always told people that Charlie takes me for two walks every day. And so when it became 3 o’clock, when he somehow knew how to read the clock, and would come to get me, I had to take myself for a walk.

It was more fun when he was with me.