4563
Pt. 1
Buddy, our white and auburn female Shih Tzu, was about eleven
years old when she began walking the well-worn pathway leading to the Rainbow
Bridge.
As my wife and I prepared to take a well-deserved vacation to
Hilton Head, South Carolina, Buddy began exhibiting some troublesome medical
symptoms. A couple of days before we left, I shared my concerns with Shirlene,
one of my sister-in-law’s, and mused that it might be wise to take my precious
pooch on a one way trip to the vet; before we left for vacation. Shirlene
disagreed, and said,
“Royce, if Buddy is fairly stable at the moment, you should
wait ‘til you get back to do the deed” (and) “You don’t want to be overwhelmed
with grief while you are on vacation.”
She convinced me in
short order.
As a result, we left our dear little Shih Tzu with Sue, my
other sister-in-law, and Jean and I headed out for South Carolina. As it fell
together, Buddy hadn’t eaten much while we were gone, and she simply hadn’t
been a real “happy camper.”
Six or eight days later, we returned, and stopped by to pick
up our little pooch. Initially, Buddy gave us “the cold shoulder.” She was not
impressed that we had gone off, and left her. Now, I don’t know if she
intuitively knew that we had been to the beach, but we had once taken her to
the east coast of Florida, and she had enjoyed running up, and down on the
white sand, and frolicking along the edge of the waves.
However, in short order Buddy seemed to forgive us, and she
“warmed up” to our loving words, and kisses. But, as much as we tried, she
refused to eat anything that day; with the exception of a small piece of
chocolate. (I confess, I have always given my dogs a modest amount of this
delicacy, in spite of the fact, or myth, that it wasn’t good for them).
Pt. 2
And as the day of our return wore away, it was obvious that
Buddy wasn’t long for this world.
She was used to sleeping with me, and she had her own pillow
at the end of the bed. We laid down earlier than usual, as my precious pooch
had begun hyperventilating, and alternatively, her respiration would slow to
five or six breaths a minute. As the evening progressed, Buddy’s tongue took on
a pasty white color. Neither our little white and auburn Shih Tzu, nor I got
any sleep. I knew it was just a matter of hours. (My wife made the comment
later that, “there’s no way I could have put Buddy in bed with me that night”).
Morning dawned, and I may have slept two hours. I’m doubtful
Buddy slept at all. Scooping her up, I noticed her breathing was on the low
ebb, and continued to be shallow. Now, I retrieved her doggie bed, and laid it,
and her in the living room, walked into the dining room, and dialed the number
of one of my counseling clients from the Dominican Republic, whose given name
was “Angel,” and took care of some quick business. (Speaking of Angel, our
daughter had given Buddy the alternative name of Angel).
Finishing my call, I walked back into the living room, and
discovered our little pooch was no longer laboring to breathe. She had crossed
the proverbial Rainbow Bridge. It soon dawned on me that our precious pooch had
been denied several years of life due to the steroidal medication we had given
her on a regular basis. However, without it, she would have scratched her eyes
out, as like so many of her breed, she had significant allergies.
In retrospect, it seemed our little Angel had mustered up
whatever was required to linger on this good earth ‘til we returned from
vacation, and, subsequently, she was gone in the course of one night.
Ironically enough, while I was on the phone with a client
named Angel, our little Angel had been visited by her Death Angel.
by Bill McDonald, PhD
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