QUEENIE'S JOURNEY

My precious little Queenie, a white and auburn Shih Tzu, was, as far as we know, about 18 years of age. But first things first.

Queenie came to live with us in May of 2013. She had wandered up in the yard of the son of a friend, and our friend, Ann, spoke to me, and asked if I had any interest in adopting her. Well, I can tell you it took me all of 23 seconds to make a decision. You see, our little Buddy, another white and auburn Shih Tzu, wandered up in our yard almost twenty years earlier, and went on to her reward well over a decade ago. And like the changing of the guard, our then thirteen year old tan Corgi crossed the Rainbow bridge a few weeks later.

In the past few years Queenie not only lost every tooth in her mouth, but a cataract clouded one eye. And then in the past few months the dear little thing began displaying symptoms of Canine Cognitive Disorder, or what we as humans refer to as Dementia. She would stare at the ceiling or the walls for minutes on end. She would walk into another room and began barking. She would walk into closed doors. She would wander into the bathroom, close the door behind her, and bark ‘til someone let her out. She would exhibit unexpected aggression.

And while I knew the end was not far off, I did my best to postpone it as long as possible. It was one of those Scarlet O’Hara, “I’ll just have to think about that tomorrow” kinda things and it was “the gorilla in the living room.”

However, Queenie’s symptoms only grew worse, and there came a day when there was no thinking about it tomorrow. I was forced to think about it today.

Pt. 2

And thus, on such and such a day I took out my trusty flip phone and dialed Queenie’s former veterinarian. I say “former” because due to her advanced age, I hadn’t bothered taking her to the doctor for a couple of years. I just saw no reason to invest money in the inevitable. In human terms Queenie was already past the century mark.

When I explained Queenie’s status quo to the vet’s office manager, she informed me that it would be a week before “Dr. Mikel” would be able to “do the deed.” And while I was disappointed that we couldn’t just “get it over with,” I was secretly relieved that I had been granted the grace of one more blessed week with my precious pooch.

The days ticked by more quickly than I might have liked, and I found myself pampering Queenie in ways that I hadn’t in the past. Ever since Buddy left us, I hadn’t allowed Lucy, and subsequently Queenie in my bed. Not only had their bare paws stepped in all kind of stuff on the nearby dog path, but the latter of the two had the dubious tendency of squatting and doing her liquid routine half on and half off the street. As a result, some of the said yellow liquid oozed beneath her feet.

However, given the quickly approaching proximity of my dear Queenie’s demise, over the course of that last week I allowed her to sleep next to me at night. She obviously enjoyed her newfound privilege, as she would lay close against my hip and find herself in la-la land in short order.

And while I had previously brushed out Queenie’s fur a couple of times a month, I easily brushed her out ten times over the course of her final week. And while I had practiced the same infrequency when it came to bathing my precious pooch, during that last week, I bathed her twice.

Her final bath occurred the day before, well, you know. As I lifted her up, placed her in the tub, and turned the faucet, I spontaneously said to her,

“Queenie, we’ve gotta get you clean for Jesus.”

And get her clean for Jesus, I proceeded to do.

Pt. 3

I had asked Jean to prepare a special “last supper” for Queenie. Over the past several months we had begun to feed her a steady diet of chicken and rice. However, her final two meals, including breakfast on the day of her “promotion” was comprised of roast beef and potatoes and carrots.

Several times throughout her final week I reminded my Queenie that Jesus loved her and that He was looking forward to seeing her soon. And rather than speak in the dark tones of death, I chose to express what lay before my beloved pooch as a journey and an adventure, and now and then I would sing her the first line of an old Christian favorite.

“Queenie girl, ‘You’re gonna take a trip on that good old Gospel ship!’”

A friend of mine, a young lady named Melodi, had been especially supportive throughout the homegoing of Buddy and Lucy, and she offered me a great deal of encouragement as Queenie was preparing to exchange this world for the next. (I had been similarly supportive as her Angelo prepared to meet his Creator).

Following is one of Melodi’s recent messages.

“Queenie is getting ready to experience what we have lived our entire life for!!! She will be running in meadows, smelling flowers and waiting until the day she sees you again!!! She will suddenly look up and know you are there and you will forever be with her and never have to leave her side again!!! Love you and know this is ‘see you soon’ and not ‘goodbye!!!’”

I have previously written about some “strange going’s on” which occurred immediately after my dear Buddy crossed the proverbial Rainbow Bridge, and some similar happenings in the years since she left us in ’06.

I simply cannot get rid of her. (Not that I want to). Whereas, Harry Houdini promised to make his presence known after he left this mortal strand, he failed to keep his promise. However, my little Buddy has apparently found a way to “do a Houdini”… again and again and again.

Pt. 4

Suffice it to say that the next night after Buddy’s passing, as I retired to my rectangular couch and attempted to sleep, I sensed a sudden weight against my right shoulder, and the seeming respiration, in and out, in and out, of that invisible creature next to me.

A couple weeks later, after the sun went down, I was walking in my subdivision, and something small and white crossed my pathway, and vanished into my neighbor’s yard. Years later, I was seated at a table in a group home in which I was a staff member, when suddenly I felt what seemed to be two little paws against my right leg. Melodi and I have conjectured that Buddy was notifying me of Angelo’s upcoming journey, and her enthusiasm about meeting him.

All the foregoing to say that the day before Queenie ceased to live and move and breathe on this earth, I was seated where I am currently typing out this reminiscence when I heard something in the living room, like a dog shaking off water after a bath. Buddy had found a way to acknowledge her realization that her little sissy was about to join her in the land where the roses never fade, and no tears dim the eyes.

As cute as they are, (the cutest dog of them all in my humble opinion) Shih Tzu’s are not the most social creatures in the world. They tend to linger six or eight feet away from their humans as a rule, and won’t go out of their way to sit in your lap. But in the past couple of months, when I picked up my little Queenie, she would lay her head against my shoulder, as if she knew what lay ahead of her, and she needed a wee bit of comfort. A few days before my Buddy passed away, she began shivering. It only lasted a couple of minutes, but I am convinced she experienced some sort of premonition of her upcoming journey across the Rainbow Bridge.

Pt. 5

A couple of hours before Queenie was scheduled to meet the Lord, I loaded her into the car, and took her for a short drive. I had some things to say to her, as I had previously said to Lucy and Buddy. As I drove down the highway, I shared the following words with her.

“Queenie, you are a very good dog. You are the best! We have loved you so much, and you have brought so much joy into our lives.”

And then I repeated something I had told her throughout the week.

“You’re about to go on a journey, and experience a wonderful adventure. And you will see my parents, and your little sisters, and Angelo, and his granddaddy, my friend Bob.”

(and)

“I will see you again in a few years, and we will never be separated again. Just remember how much we loved you. In just a couple hours you will see Jesus. He loves you more than I ever could. You will be safe with Him.”

(and)

“Queenie, the doctor is going to get you started on your journey. I need you to be good to him.”

A few minutes after Queenie and I arrived back home it was time to get ready to leave. I dreaded what lay ahead of us, but I was determined to do something I had never done before.

I realized it wasn’t about me. It was about her. And this gave me the wherewithal to join her in an examination room which she knew all too well. However, this time around the purpose of our visit had nothing to do with her health. She would not walk out of that room alive.

Pt. 6

Our daughter, Kristy, gave us one of her dogs a couple months ago, and now I offered Toby the opportunity to say “Goodbye” to Queenie. The two of them mostly seemed oblivious of one another’s presence in the house. And when I set Queenie down next to Toby yesterday it was much the same. He paused a moment, and walked away.

The vet’s office manager had previously told me that they no longer provided a burial box, and that we would have to bring a cardboard container with us. Jean suggested a bank box which she had used to store tax forms and other documents. I had already stretched a measuring tape from Queenie’s snout to her tail, and determined she was 20 inches in length. And though the bank box was closer to 15 inches across, I realized I could turn her into a fetal position; which was common to her method of slumber.

It was time to make our way to the vet’s office, and picking Queenie up I walked out of the house and got in the passenger’s side of our car. Getting into the driver’s seat, Jean started the engine, and we were off.

Arriving at the doctor’s office we discovered a sign on the door which required us to call first, and they would open the door for us. The Covid-19 Pandemic has changed so much in this old world. My wife made the call, and she was informed that someone would prepare the exam room, and that we could just wait in the car ‘til we received a follow up call.

After about ten minutes transpired Jean’s phone rang, and she was informed that the room was ready, and that a staff person would open the door for us. Having walked through the door, we were escorted into Exam Room 2, a tiny 6x8 foot cubicle hardly worthy of being referred to by this semi-prestigious title.

As I laid Queenie on the dual exam and weigh table, I noticed the scale registered 13.1 lbs. I had allowed her hair to grow out the past few months, and based on her appearance I had assumed she was closer to 18 or 20 pounds. I assumed wrong. I had previously taken a small cutting of that hair, and put it in an Altoids container; in which I kept some similar mementoes from my Buddy and Lucy.

Pt. 7

The slightly obese, balding doctor was dressed in a typical white med shirt and a pair of khaki pants. Having refreshed my memory of him, I pulled up his website which informed me that he has been in the field for just short of half a century, having at one time been an Air Force veterinarian.

Dr. Mikel held an hypodermic needle in his left hand, and informed me that he was about to administer the first of a two drug cocktail; (a duo of liquids which is also used in the execution of condemned criminals).

As the aging doctor placed his right hand on Queenie’s hip, she pulled away from him, and growled slightly. She remembered the sting of the shots she had received in this very room. With this the vet said,

“You’re going to have to hold her neck and head, or I will have to muzzle her.”

Well, Queenie had NEVER been muzzled, and no one was going to begin the practice now. I leaned over slightly and placed one hand on her head and one hand under her neck. With this she settled down, and allowed the vet to do what a vet does best, (or worst, as the case may be).

Queenie whimpered slightly as the needle was inserted into one of her back legs. I told her that it was going to be okay, and that I would see her again in a few years. Although the vet had informed me that she would fall asleep within three to five minutes, slumber seemed to overcome her in the course of a minute. I watched as her good eye closed slightly, and slumber overwhelmed her.

Now Dr. Mikel retrieved the follow up needle, and a pair of electric shears. Turning Queenie towards himself, He began to cut away a swath of fur on her right front leg. With this, he unceremoniously inserted the needle, and slowly pushed the plunger.

“I’ve given her enough for a 30 pound dog, so it won’t take long.”

Pt. 8

Now the mournful event took a turn for the worse. The doctor said something that was totally unnecessary, and from my way of thinking reprehensible given the solemnity of the occasion.

“I believe you signed a form for my receptionist, but just to be sure. Florida law requires you to follow certain requirements when burying your pet. In the past people have had their animals euthanized, and thrown them out on the side of the road on their way home, or put them in their garbage bin. Well, vultures, eagles and raccoons have eaten the carcasses, and they have died as the result of the poison in the dogs’ bodies.”

And I thought,

“You could have told me that after Queenie ‘left the building.’ Here she is in the middle of meeting her Maker, and you had to share that lovely bit of information with me?”

I chose to let his comments go unanswered, except for a slight nod.

Less than two minutes after the second needle was inserted I asked him,

“How much longer will it be?”

To which the vet responded,

“She’s already gone.”

Aside from Dr. Mikel’s unwarranted, uninvited comments, above, things had fallen together pretty much as I expected, though it had taken less than half the time I had previously conjectured.

Before walking out of the room, the vet provided us some final instructions.

“You can take your time. But when you’re ready you can put her in the box which you brought with you.”

After stroking her head a moment, and whispering in her ear, I lifted Queenie from the exam table, placed her gently in the box, and covered her with its lid.

Pt. 9

Placing Queenie’s makeshift casket in the backseat of the car, I resumed my place in the passenger seat, and we made our way home. Having arrived home, I opened the back door of the car, and walked her into the house.

I debated looking at her a final time, but thought about lifting the lid slightly, and dropping a couple of her favorite items into the box. However, as I sat the little cardboard casket on the floor Toby ran up to us, and began sniffing the outside of it.

I decided to take the lid off the box, and Toby immediately looked inside. I spoke to him.

“Toby, Queenie has gone to meet Jesus. We will see her again one day.”

I have previously written about the seeming aloofness which existed between Toby and Queenie. However, my daughter just reminded me of what one might express as their “actual relationship.”

“You know they had sexual relations.”

(and)

“I never saw Toby do that with any other dog.”

(and)

“They were partners.”

Of course, I was aware of these things, but I had never put it in that particular context. Queenie was almost 18. Toby is 6. (I guess he fell for an old lady).

At this point I laid my precious pooch’s purple rubber ball and a meal bone in one corner of the box. (It occurred to me what little a dog or cat really have in this life, except the love they receive from their owners). 

And realizing Queenie’s head was partially buried in the blue crochet cover on which she lay, and which we used to cover her every night of her life with us, I adjusted her head so that I could see one eye and her tiny snout.

Pt. 10

There was just one more thing to be done.

The day before Queenie left us, when I was shopping at Dollar General, I picked up a single red rose for my wife. However, when I returned home, Jean suggested I place it in Queenie’s little casket.

Now I followed through with her suggestion. Bending over I laid the scarlet rose across her body. Having finished my momentary business, I placed the lid back on the box, and taped it shut. There was just one more thing to do before we committed her dear little body to the earth. I retrieved a blue permanent marker from a nearby jar and wrote the following words on the lid of the box.

“See You in the Morning, Queenie.”

(and)

“You were a very good dog.”

(and)

“We Loved You.”

It was time to place my precious pooch under the old oak tree where I had previously buried Buddy and Lucy.

My wife and I walked the thirty steps down a fern strewn pathway which separated us from the gravesites of two members of our family, and the little pet cemetery which was about to receive a third.

Placing the makeshift casket in the hole I spoke the following words.

“Queenie, you were the best. You were a precious pooch, and we will always remember you. We will see you again soon, my little friend.”

To which my wife offered an “Amen.”

Afterward

Our little Queenie is, even now, looking into the face of Jesus, a face that all of creation longs to see.

My wife and I are doing well under the circumstances, but our precious pooch is doing better. Once again, she has perfect vision and a full set of teeth. And best of all her mind and emotions have, if anything, been sharpened and perfected. She no longer stares incessantly at the ceiling or the wall, nor barks at invisible phantoms in the other room. The momentary comfort I was able to provide her when she laid her head on my shoulder has been supplanted by the everlasting comforts of her Creator and the heavenly host.

I still find myself looking at the clock, and thinking I need to take my precious Queenie out for a walk at sunrise, and at four in the afternoon. As I prepare Toby’s breakfast and dinner, I break the chicken into tiny pieces as I had done hundreds of times, knowing that Toby could have cared less, but that it was nothing less than crucial for Queenie since she had long since lost all her teeth.

Speaking of Toby, last night he found his way to my wife’s bed well before she retired for the night; something he has rarely ever done. This morning he refused to eat, but managed to eat something later in the day. I believe he knows Queenie has left our little home and has no intention or wherewithal to return.

I am at peace knowing that Queenie is healthier and happier now than she has ever been, and that I will most definitely see her again.

by William McDonald, PhD.  Copyright pending

                                                 A Loan From God

God promised at the birth of time, a special friend to give,
Her time on earth is short, he said, so love her while she lives.


It may be six or seven years, or twelve or perhaps sixteen,
but will you, till I call her back, take care of her for me?


A wagging tail and cold wet nose, and silken velvet ears,
a heart as big as all outdoors, to love you through the years.


Her puppy ways will gladden you, and antics bring a smile,
as guardian or friend she will, be loyal all the while.


She'll bring her charms to grace your life, and though her stay be brief,
when she's gone the memories, are solace for your grief.


I cannot promise she will stay, since all from earth return,
but lessons only a dog can teach, I want you each to learn.


Whatever love you give to her, returns in triple measure,
follow her lead and gain a life, brim full of simple pleasure.


Enjoy each day as it comes, allow your heart to guide,
be loyal and steadfast in love, as the dog there by your side.


Now will you give her all your love, nor think the labor vain,
nor hate me when I come to call, to take her back again?


I fancy each of us would say, "Dear Lord, thy will be done,
for all the joy this day shall bring, the risk of grief we'll run."


"We'll shelter her with tenderness, we'll love her while we may,
and for the happiness we've known, forever grateful stay."


"But shall the angels call for her, much sooner than we've planned,
we'll brave the bitter grief that comes, and try to understand."