He was sick, sicker than I’ve ever seen before. He drank water cautiously, almost knowing it was coming out quickly the other end. He shivered. He hid. His eyes were painted sad and never seemed to reflect light. His favorite place was under our 1950’s style couch.
Squiggy was sick from the time we brought him home from the pound. A black coat and darling eyes are what attracted us to him. He seemed very peppy at the pound, but as soon as he was home with us he went downhill.
It was the Memorial Day weekend and the pound was closed, which meant a trip to the emergency veterinarian hospital. Yes, it meant that we’d have to wait to be seen and then pay a ton of money for the privilege.
I don’t remember arriving at the hospital, but I do remember the doctor. He was young, haggard and was very impatient. He took all of three minutes to examine Squiggy. His monotone pronouncement was dire. The doctor said our new dog have parvo and the best thing to do was to put him down. Parvo is a virus that quickly kills puppies.
We were crushed. Our son had died within the last two years and our pets were surrogate children; vessels for our love, joy and caring that he would have received. And now, the doctor is advocating killing our dog.
We shared these feelings and thoughts with the doctor and asked if he was sure it was parvo. He related he knew it was parvo, but there was a $50 test to be sure. He thought it a waste of money and discouraged us. When something is your only choice you take it. Though $50 to use at the time might as well been $1000, we told him to do the test.
The wait seemed like it took three days, but we were glad when the doctor came back. His demeanor was changed and he did his best to apologize. Squiggy didn’t have parvo. The way he went about atoning for his mistake wasn’t impressive. The doctor told us Squiggy needed to be pumped full of fluids, which was accomplished with the largest syringe I had seen even to this day. Squiggy had lost so much weight he fit in my palm and after the fluids he looked like the Hunchback of the Pound.
Squiggy quickly recovered and grew almost as fast as my wife’s love for him. My wife cared for him in a way most people never get to experience, let alone pets. Squiggy repaid this caring by becoming a steadfast companion, relentless guardian and bosom buddy to my wife.
Through the years my wife cared for Squiggy in extraordinary ways. When he was truck by a car, she nursed him to health. When he had a case of the runs, she cleaned him up. This caring my wife displayed wasn’t limited to Squiggy. She’s like this with everyone in her life. The beautiful thing about it is that she’s passed the caring gene onto my daughter. Whereas some husbands might regret living in a household with two women, I love it.
Towards the end of his life Squiggy still stood tall, when my wife held his midsection up with a towel. Squiggy could no longer walk, which meant he could no longer go outside to relieve himself. My wife caringly, lovingly gave him the support he needed to do his job.
During this time, my wife would visit with Squiggy at night in the laundry room to pet him, talk to him and comfort him. It’s a cold place, but my wife made it nice for Squiggy with pillows and blankets. The days of bounding up the stairs and into our bed were long over for him. One night she stayed downstairs longer than normal. When she came up to go to bed she told me that tonight was the night.
I awoke the next morning to find out she was right.
How she knew Squiggy was leaving us that night, I’ll never know. I like to think that the care she provided to Squiggy throughout all the years initiated a bond between them. A synchronous loop of affection, companionship and caring. That night my wife knew her caring had come to an end. It didn’t lesson the feelings of loss or the gaping hole of agony, yet this was a perfect model of caring my wife has brought to our marriage.
Today’s Gift: As we grow older, my wife and I have come to realize that exercise is important. My wife’s caring about others sometimes interferes with her exercise schedule. Ironically, it affects her ability to care for herself. My gift to her is time. I’ll work with her to make sure she has the time to exercise. This could mean doing more household chores or hiring someone to do tasks to free her up.