I'll cross that bridge - when I come to it

Rascal came into my life soft and gentle,

so small I put him inside my coat to keep him from the cold,

until we got him home.

He was scared, a little -

he was used to his cage and his brother by his side.

I put him in a box with a warm blanket next to the couch and pet him -

as often as I could.

The nights he spent in the back room,

behind a barricade

to protect him and his new home.

We all know how puppies are!

He cried, this little guy, until he cried himself to sleep.

Okay, you guessed it!

After that,

I slept on the couch with my hand resting on his tiny body.

Everyone loved him right away; it was so easy to do.

He grew by leaps and bounds - and he would leap and bound all over.

What energy he had! He never tired of playing.

His first ball was twice his size

but he managed to kill it and drag it all over the yard.

What a sight to see!

He must have been confused until he finished "house training."

At times, I'm sure he must have thought he might be part bird.

As soon as he even looked like he might squat - he was airborne.

I'd swoop him up and run to the closest door and down into the yard

where he would calmly do his "business"

and wait to get carried up the steps again.
He had a dozen or so toys, which never seemed to last very long.

Usually he chewed them until they were all gone.

But he got to be very clever -

he somehow knew exactly which toy we asked him to get.

Even if he already had one clutched in his mouth, as he usually did,

he'd spit it out, like those old PEZ candy dispensers,

and quickly fetch your choice.

"Hey, Rascal! Where's your monkey?" And he'd get the monkey.

"Good boy!  Where's your hedgehog?" Zap it goes from his mouth,

and he's off to bring you the hedgehog.

And he loved the game so.

One thing, though - he would rarely relinquish his toys.

Oh, he'd go and get them for you, but just try to get them from him -

It was like trying to open the Jaws of Life with a Q-tip.

When he was ready he'd drop it at your feet so you could throw it.

He would chase whatever it was, as far as you could throw it,

Grab it and prance back with it - tightly locked in his teeth.

And start all over again. Drove my husband crazy, but I understood.

It was the game, his game,

He made up the rules and everyone played by them - or - you didn't play!

He quickly became my guardian.

Not my guard dog, you understand, but my guardian.

I was as much to him as he was to me

And I never knew such peace of mind.

And oh, my, he was so happy to see me

when I came home from somewhere,

and I never knew such pure love.

He followed me everywhere, and I mean everywhere!

I gave up shutting the bathroom door,

just so he wouldn't knock it off its hinges with his snout.

When it was nap-time, he'd curl up by my feet - as best he could.

(By his third year he had topped 120 pounds

and was the size of a Great Dane built like a German shepherd.)

He would then extend his great big old paw and expect me to make body contact.

This was a ritual, not to be broken or taken lightly.

You know, it may sound odd, but he tried so very hard to hold your hand.

Not to just give his paw to you but ...

he'd literally bend as much of his paw as he could to wrap around your hand.

And nights, by my side of the bed, on his bed,

paw extended holding my hand as it dangled from the bed,

like it was the most natural thing -

until he fell asleep.

He wasn't a good traveler - suffered from car sickness -

but oh, how he loved the mountains.

He'd run and chase the ball and sometimes even give it to you to throw again.

He'd leap from the deck and down the drive and back again in a flash.

But not this time. This time my heart skipped a beat.

The last time, he had trouble getting up and down.

And he took the steps - slowly.

He'd had medical problems over six of his nine, almost ten years.

Skin infections mostly, sometimes his ears.

Lumps and bumps that appeared and disappeared.

We tried to keep up with it

and for the most part - things were kept under control.

But this time, something wasn't "right."

Sure, he was older and having some problems with his legs now and then.

When we got him home, I'd call the vet - again.

I called the vet Monday morning and was able to get an appointment that night.

We sat in the waiting room and watched the other dogs and cats come and go.

Then it was our turn.

My husband and I took him into the examining room.

Our vet is excellent with him,

gets right down on the floor with him - that impressed me, a lot!

But he didn't impress me this time.

This time he broke my heart.

My Rascal was ill, very ill.

He had cancer.

It was aggressive and it would kill him - soon.

In my heart I knew, I knew when he looked at me

after he couldn't make the jump.

I cried on the way home from the mountains.

I cried on the way to the vet.

I cried harder on the ride home.

No medicine would help, not this time.

The only thing they could do was ease his pain until he was incapacitated -

or

put him down.

How could I decide? How could I not decide?

"Are you sure you can't make him better?" I sobbed between gasps.

This is too fast! I wasn't ready! I knew, but I wasn't ready, not yet!

The vet turned to me and said, "You knew when you brought him in, didn't you?"

Oh yes I did, but I wanted so much to be wrong. This time.

"He is my best friend, my guardian, my buddy!  How can you ask me

to do this to him?"

How could I let him suffer?

The first shot slowed him down and he got a little woozy.

Rascal left my side, soft and gentle,

so large I put my coat over him to keep him from the cold,

until he got home.

He was scared, a little - he was used to his home and his person by his side.

I sat down on the floor with him and hugged him - as often as I could.

I cried then, as I am crying now, as I have cried so many times since then.

Someone sent me a card with the Rainbow Bridge poem;

it was and is the only thing that brings me any consolation.

If you have never shared a special animal's love and affection, I pity you.

It's just a dog, you say, but oh, you are so wrong.

When my time comes

and after I get to meet up

with all of my loved ones who have gone on before me

I am going to go to the Rainbow Bridge,

to the field where the dogs are running and playing

as when they were young and healthy.

And when I see the dog that stops, and turns, and begins to run towards me -

I'll be running as fast as I can

to meet up with Rascal again

and, I'll cross that bridge,

when I come to it. 

(Winnie Hillock, 2002)

 

*****

I tried to contact the author to obtain a permit. Unfortunately, I found only the email address Wmh4716@aol.com but my mail was undeliverable.