LHR Images BLOG

Yesterday, Frodo and I took a walk to the nearby park, a walk like we’ve made countless times before. When we got to the woods, I unclipped his leash as usual. He had a wonderful time smelling the smells, trotting through the greenery, marking and remarking his territory. After the woods, we come to an open field — an old cemetary actually. Usually, we turn right here, and start heading for home. He looked up at me with his quizzical expression. “Can we go straight across today, Dad”. He always was very fluent in body language. “Sure, which way do you want to go buddy? I’m right behind you”. So, we crossed the cemetary and still, he didn’t turn but found the path on the other side — one that we usually followed only when he was really feeling energenic.

Again, he turned to question me. Again, I gave my consent.

All during the walk, his respiration had been rapid and raspy but he carried right along, head and tail held high, truly enjoying himself despite the labored breath. I suddenly remembered that some animals have a tendency to seek out a quiet place to lay down and just give up. Scenarios started racing through my mind. Was I going to be carrying a limp, lifeless body back from this walk? I started thinking about his 13 years with us. Before I knew it, I was composing his obituary in my mind. Tears started filling my eyes.

We came to the place where the trail intersects an old, gravel road. Again, the question, again, the consent. We carried down the road a short ways to another trail. This time, it was my turn to ask the question. His answer was to turn back and head the way we had come. We arrived back at the cemetary and he turned left, towards home.

He trotted along, getting several yards away from me. Stopped, looked back over his houlder; “Come on old man! Can’t you keep up?” No, his time had not yet come. I chided myself for already mourning him while he was still obviously very much alive.

Pat was at home when we arrived and there were the usual, very energetic greetings. I had been a fool. He had just wanted to explore a little more than usual. Everything was going to be ok, at least for awhile yet.

Later on, towards evening, things started changing though. His breath got more labored. He couldn’t find a comfortable position to lie down thanks to the large tumors on this throat and chest. We couldn’t touch him without him yelping. We wanted to hold and comfort him but couldn’t get near.

I took him out for his evening walk. He made it very clear at the nearest street corner that he wanted to go back home — about 1/4 of his usual evening walk with me. When we got home, he headed straight for his cage under the kitchen table… a place that he reserved for when he was really feeling bad. He didn’t even come out for his after walk treat… although he gladly took it when I brought it to his cage.

We went upstairs to bed and he followed. Trying to find a place where he could be comfortable, he tried several places on the floor. Respiration was very labored and raspy. And then, it would stop. I’d listen anxiously and then, it would start again. I couldn’t sleep so I headed back downstairs to read a magazine. He followed me down, looked like he was going to sit on my lap, but changed his mind. He lay down near me in the living room for awhile, breathing still rapid and forced. After awhile he disappeared.

After I read my magazine, I went looking for him. Wasn’t tough to find given the heavy breathing… he was on a bed in Pat’s sewing/craft room. Although the breathing hadn’t quieted, he seemed to be peacefully asleep. I headed back upstairs and slept.

Just before 6AM I woke up. No sound of him nearby. I had to go downstairs to the bathroom. OK, the real truth is, I had to go down to see how he was doing… the bathroom thing was just an excuse. When I first got downstairs, all was quiet. But then, the heavy breathing again. I followed the sound to my lazyboy in the living room. I stroked his shoulders. Then, went back to bed. He followed and lay down at the foot of the bed again.

Realizing that further sleep was out of the question, I got up and headed downstairs and started fixing breakfast. He followed me and headed towards the door. I let him out as I often do first thing in the morning. He usually goes out, marks a bush, and returns inside all excited and pleased with himself. This morning, he ran under my car parked in the driveway and wouldn’t come back. I tried several ways to coax him out from under the car. He wouldn’t budge. I left the door open (despite it raining at the time) while I finished my breakfast. Still wouldn’t budge.

About 7:30, when the vet’s office opened, Pat called them. Yes, we could bring him right in. We gathered his stuff and coaxed him into the van, offering him a car ride. He likes car rides almost as much as riding in a canoe so he finally came with us.

The vet tried to give us a little hope. Said the breathing wasn’t like it should be with a constricted airway but, more likely his enlarged heart pressing on his lungs. There was medication, he said, that could treat that. But, he’d have to take x-rays to make sure.

X-rays in hand, the optimism was gone. The airway was constricted, just further down the chest than anticipated. There was also a little fluid in the lungs but, not as much as he’d thought there would be. There were treatments, he said, for the fluid — but with so little fluid, it wouldn’t really give much relief. Same too with the constriction — steroids might help, but it wouldn’t be much help.

He was getting as emotional as we were as it became painfully clear that there was really only one option. I won’t bore you with more details. Suffice it to say that at approximately 8:30 this morning, Frodo, aka “The Chick Magnet”, my all time best paddling buddy, quietly and painlessly slipped from this world with me gently stroking his head and back.

When he got to the rainbow bridge, I’m sure he stopped and gave that look over his shoulder one last time. “Mom, Dad, aren’t you coming with me?” “Sorry, old buddy, you’ll have to make this trip on your own. We’ll join you someday. Just not now.” Even after he passed on, I carried on stroking and carressing… it just didn’t seem possible.

So now, for Frodo, there are no more tomorrows, no more todays. Just lots of yesterdays full of fond memories.

Goodbye ole buddy, ole pal. You were truly special and you’ll be missed like crazy. Thanks for the 13 years you blessed our lives. Have fun over that rainbow bridge. I hope someone there has a canoe and takes you for lots of paddle trips. You deserve nothing but the best!

RIP

This entry was posted on Thursday, June 5th, 2008 at 10:40 am and is filed under My Life. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.