Aging Dogs on Terminal

 

The vet isn’t answering the phone so I leave a message with a calm controlled voice. “Hello, my name is Lucia. I am a resident of Bowen island and I have a very old dog.” To my surprise I can’t continue. I sob and pass the cell phone over to my fellow who calmly finishes the message while holding my hand as I sniffle in the background. “Um yes, he’s had a turn for the worse and we’re wondering if you do home visits for euthanizing. We’d like to bury him under our crab-apple tree.”

I’ve had Tartuffe for over eighteen years, since he was a pup. He’s a beautiful blue eyed mutt with the softest fur ever. He’s always had the disposition of a despondent poet. I’ve never been a dog person but we’ve had a long cordial and comfortable relationship. He’s barked at strangers who come to the door and made me feel safe. He’s slept under Nora’s crib. In rare bursts of enthusiasm, he’s embarrassed me at off leash dog parks with voracious humping, his eyes lasciviously half lidded…he’s licked scraped knees and sniffed for squirrels up trees and wooed pedestrians who cannot pass without petting the Pretty Boy. He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed. Despite great efforts: he’s never really understood how to heel, he’s never fetched, he’s never rolled over, he simply blinks. That said, he always got treats regardless. So…perhaps he wasn’t so dumb.

It’s been nearly three years that he’s had to wake us up in the middle of the night to pee. When we give him sleeping pills he tends to mess in the house. He is now blind, deaf and disoriented. The conundrum is: he seems perfectly happy and wags his tail and eats a full dinner and still loves to lick puddles. My daughter clings to his neck and implores with eyes as round as saucers, “you CAN’T KILL HIM Mom!”

But he’s been sick for three days in a row and I’m sure this is a sign of the end. To be completely honest, it’s a relief. We are so sleep deprived. My husband and I have a long talk about quality life for a dog and how it must feel for him to be a predator by nature and now so weak and vulnerable. We break it to the kids over dinner. Our boy sighs heavily and simply says, “That’s sad.” And he takes him for one last quiet walk with his Dad. Then he lies beside him for a while, making eye contact, a silent guy-to-guy good-bye. My daughter plays tough at first but is inconsolable all night, getting out of bed near twelve to beg me not to euthanize him. “What if he gets better, Mom?”

I tuck her back into bed, “Well dear, I don’t see how he’s going to make a massive recovery overnight, he’s very old. If he does, of course, we will cancel the vet. But he’s shaking in pain, he’s throwing up, he’s peeing all over himself, this isn’t a dignified life for a dog.”

She nods her head.

This night is his last night on earth. Tartuffe tucks in at the foot of our bed and…sleeps soundly and doesn’t get us up at all. He doesn’t make a mess, he doesn’t get sick. He isn’t shaking, he isn’t cowed. In the morning he greets me with perky ears and a clean bed as if nothing ever happened. He stands up, gives himself a shake, springs to life, ready for a walk.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

I don’t mean to be callous, but I had resigned myself to a respectful period of grief and then a dog-hair free life with eight hour sleeps. I was starting to picture the new white fearless throw carpets. I was imagining what I could do with the corner of the room that currently has the dog bowls. I look at Tartuffe, he looks at me. I look at my husband, he looks at me. I start to sing from Les Miserables, “One more dawn, one more day, one day more.”

So, later that day, I pack up the “Everlast” dog and the groceries, my writing and the laundry and head down Clark Ave towards the second narrows bridge to catch a ferry to the island. What am I going to do with him when I’m in San Francisco? I didn’t think he’d still be here…who is going to want to dog sit under these circumstances? Ah. What a rollercoaster this has all been.

“Sorry to drag you around in the car, old man” I say to him. But I have to clean the Bowen island suite and get worms to the gecko and food to the rabbits and collect the chicken eggs. When and how did I accrue so many animals?

There’s a pile of writing I want to get done and I keep getting interrupted with impending pet doom and then miraculous recoveries. I am not predicting life and death very well. Last week I planted a pile of primulas and the very next day a huge heavy wet snow dumped all over them.

Suddenly the Mini Cooper “flat tire” warning goes on. “No way! Come on! Crap!” I thought things felt a little wobbly. “Shoot!” I just replaced a tire a few weeks ago and of course being the fancy RunFlat tires that my little luxury item vehicle takes, they cost me a mint. That’s the third flat tire in eight months, are you kidding me?!

The thought strikes me, “Is this foul play?” Is one of the cranky people in my building who resists summer rentals sneaking into the car park and placing nails behind my tires? Honestly? My eyes crinkle up into suspicious slits as I turn down Terminal Ave. Who gets three nails in their tire in a row?

And just as this shitty thought hits my mind, my dog shits in my backseat. I sniff.

“No. NO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I just walked you five minutes ago! You have to crap in my new car?!”

Oh I am so mad. This is a first. I think some dark thoughts, some very dark thoughts.

I pull into the Mini Cooper service centre parking lot and investigate the perniciousness in the back seat. Somehow my dog managed to turn his butt completely around in order to defecate neatly into the little pocket on the side of the door. Now, granted, this wasn’t on my leather seat or the carpeted floor, but this defiled little storage nook will be, in its own way, impossible to clean. I’m going to need a toothbrush because nothing about this situation is firm. I storm straight into the restroom and grab some paper towels and head out to my car again to do the best I can and then I wash my hands and YUCK the whole thing YUCK.

I leash Tartuffe and bring him into the centre with me. My dog and I both pretend this whole thing didn’t just happen. With a heavy sigh and the slight ever so delicate smell of shit still wafting up from my scrubbed red hands…I hand over my keys and say apologetically, “I believe I need a new tire. Please excuse the smell of excrement. It’s not me, it’s him.” I point down to the sheepish looking Tartuffe who looks as guilty as any convict.

“One more dawn, one more day, one day more.…”

Suddenly Salvo comes trotting in. He’s Alex’s old yellow dog. (Alex is the service manager, I know him well having driven three Minis now) The two old dogs sniff each other for a long long time because both of their olfactories are going and yet they’re sure if they keep trying they’ll get some kind of hit – something – anything!

I sit down to have a complimentary coffee. That’s the one thing about being a Mini owner, you get a free Starbucks coffee and a free car wash every time you walk in the door. It takes the edge off the bill for those of us who just have to drive a fancy sports car. I’m going to miss the 12:30 ferry, I have a two hour wait now, I might as well make myself comfortable and ponder how I’m going to make an extra five hundred bucks this month. Tartuffe paces the floor and starts to leave little drops. Damn. I head out to walk him and I meet up with Minaz, the product advisor who traded me my current blue Mini cooper S and gave me a good price for my yellow Countryman demon car from hell. Minaz gives me a big warm hug, I like this guy. He’s in sales but I never feel like he’s trying to make a sale.

“Good to see you Lucia! Got any shows coming up?”

“Yes, I have Misery at the Arts Club in April.”

“Oh we will definitely book tickets to see it! We love going to shows on Granville island.”

We chat about theatre for a while, then he asks with a hint of concern,

“Why are you in today, nothing wrong with the car I hope?”

“Another flat tire.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. But otherwise the car is running well for you?”

“Minaz, you picked me out a beauty, I absolutely love this car. It’s like a ride at the fair every time I get behind the wheel.”

He must be between clients, he’s in no rush and happy to chat while we both wait. We have a wonderful conversation about Mexico (my friend is getting married there this fall) and children growing up and moving away (we both have kids interested in engineering) and then in passing he mentions church. He goes to St Andrews Wesley too! Well. Lovely. We talk about its inclusive mandate. How lovely to discover we have a similar view on how to treat others.

We head back in and he offers me another coffee but we’re interrupted by the shop rep.

“I have some good news, all of your tires are in excellent shape, we checked them all. The sensor went off because the air pressure in the tires was uneven, so we balanced that all out for you.”

“Oh that’s wonderful news! What do I owe you?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s no problem. And if you have time we’ll give the car an interior clean and a wash.”

“Um…that’s great! But my dog had an accident…I got most of it – but – you shouldn’t have to-”

He looks a little surprised but then has a little grin. I imagine he might be thinking that it isn’t him who will have to clean it but the young new guy out back. He assures me: “no problem, we’ll do the best we can for you. You’re a valued customer.”

Wincing a little with guilt, I agree. While waiting for the car to be cleaned old Salvo heads over to me and my dog again, lovely old guy. I give his whiskery greying self an ear rub. Alex now comes out of his office to say hello and pets Tartuffe. Alex is a quiet precise thoughtful man with large expressive eyes, about a decade younger than me.

“Ooh this is an old guy too, how long have you had him?”

“Since a pup, he’s eighteen and four months old.”

Alex’s eyes widen with hope, “Really?! Well…that’s encouraging. Salvo is sixteen.”

We have a pleasant chat about dogs and cars and a smattering of things. He follows me out to the lot to greet my freshly scrubbed Blue Belle Mini. As I say my good-bye, hefting Tartuffe into the backseat, noting the smell of “clean”, Alex offers – quite sincerely,

“You know, we really appreciate clients like you, Lucia. Because…you look on the bright side of things.”

Do I?

Alex is a sincere guy. I like him. He’s the one who told me he couldn’t take any more of my money and that I should sell the yellow car as quickly as possible and get something better – a deal with Minaz – and I did. He’s given me good advice on my winter tire sale and a free oil change when it wasn’t under warrantee. He’s told me what not to buy and steered me away from what I really don’t need. Sure, it’s good business, but I think he’s also – good. I watch him walk back into the auto body shop with his stiff legged old scruffy Salvo. I reach over and pat Tartuffe’s paw.

“Try not to shit this time.”

We drive off towards the ocean. I’m glad there isn’t someone in my building putting nails behind my tires. How stupid of me to even think that. No. I like my building. There are some good people in there. Just because we disagree on rentals doesn’t mean they harbour any particular animosity. That’s all in my head.

I get to Horseshoe bay early.

“You look on the bright side of things”, Alex’s words ring in my head.

I walk Tartuffe along the ocean, we have time. We missed the twelve thirty ferry so – what a gift. I should think of this as a gift. I should try to make this one of the best days of my life. Why not? My tires are good, my car is clean, my dog is alive and I have a home on the island. How incredible is that?

It’s a beautiful sun shiny day and Tartuffe and I walk along the ocean and watch the boats come in and listen to a toddler squeal with delight as she pokes her toe at a pile of sea weed.

How very blessed I am. “One more dawn, one more day, one day more.”