They say that time heals all wounds. Who are they?
And what do they know? I looked up “time” in my dictionary and found nearly
half a column of definitions. Nowhere did it include the words
“healer of wounds.” It did however have one example that I could
identify with; “He died before his time.”
Winston was an extraordinary Boxer: strong brave loyal intelligent
nothing short of regal. He was five years old when he came to live us
approximately middle-aged for a dog. We were thrilled to have him become
part of our family. Little did we know what an impact he would have on our lives.
As dogs will do he achieved great feats of mischievousness. He was
particularly fond of the garbage can. His ravenous appetite for trash
was not easily squelched. The kitchen receptacle had to be moved to the
bathroom and hidden behind a large piece of sheet-rock. There it still
did not escape his intelligence. It took only a couple of days before
he learned to slide that sheet-rock enough to wriggle his large body
past it to find the “treasure” on the other side. The obvious answer
of course was to close the bathroom door. However it didn’t take him
long to start opening that door. We all grew to resign ourselves to the
fact that we would be picking up garbage on a regular basis. While he
never learned to stay out of the trash we knew immediately upon
entering the house whether there was a mess to clean. He would lay his
head and belly on the floor and slink along the carpet like a snake
slithering through the grass.
His second love in life was going for a ride. He never cared where the
vehicle was headed nor how long the trip would take. He would sit
erectly in the nearest vacant seat. Unlike the kids he was happy to
occupy the back seat when necessary. Joyfully he would watch out the
window like an interested audience member in the play of life. At every
stop he would eagerly look both ways as if he were the driver. Even
visiting the vet was ok with Winston as it meant a ride to town. We
stopped saying the word ride and started spelling it in front of him as
people do with young children. This new “trick” of ours did not daunt
him. He quickly recognized the significance of the letters “r-i-d-e.”
Late one Summer I noticed a small lump behind his left ear.
I didn’t think much of it at first but the foreign presence continued to grow
larger. It became apparent that surgery was going to be necessary. The
appointment was promptly scheduled and our greatest fear was soon
confirmed. Winston had a malignant tumor that could not be fully
removed because it had grown precariously around a major artery feeding
blood to his brain. The vet informed us that the prognosis was not
good. The tumor would grow back she said but couldn’t tell us how
much longer we had with him.
Our remaining time with Winston was shorter than we had hoped.
The cancer grew much more quickly than any of us had anticipated. A year
earlier I had watched my sister fight a losing battle with cancer. I
wasn’t prepared to handle another loss at the cruel hand of this
unforgiving disease. My sister had out-lived her prognosis by six
months but it was not without great suffering. I knew that I could not
endure watching Winston wither and fade as she had.
The unsightly bulge on Winston’s neck seemed to get larger each day.
I would stare at it with my anger growing even more rapidly than the
tumor. He seemed quite unaware that he was ill. He never lost his
puppy-bounce or the full-body wag that was so characteristic of him.
None of us were prepared for the night that he fell down and suffered
two severe seizures. He had been playing with the kids that had
assembled for my son’s twelfth birthday. When company arrived he was
certain they had come to visit him. While the kids and I were in the
kitchen Winston walked in to the living room where my husband and an
adult guest were chatting. There he stumbled fell over and went
rigid. After a few moments he shook violently and hopped back up. My
husband said nothing to me for fear that the kids would over-hear.
After all the guests had left he told me what had happened. I slumped
to the floor and hugged Winston as giant tears fell onto his neck. How
could I ever say goodbye to this dog who had become like a child to me?
Within a few minutes another seizure over-took his body. This time
after he got up he staggered and appeared disoriented. Looking into
his eyes I could sense his fear. I wondered if he felt mine.
My husband and I wept as we made the most difficult decision that we
have ever made. We knew that our time with Winston was nearly over.
We were certain that he would continue to have these episodes and possibly
die alone. The thought of him suffering and having nobody there to hold
his head rub his soft fur and speak softly to him was more than we
could bare. We called the vet and she agreed to meet us at the office.
It was time to say goodbye to our sweet friend who had brought so much
joy into our lives.
We quietly grabbed our jackets and whispered
“Wanna go for a ride Winston?” It was a ride with few words.
I softly cried and Winston bravely kissed the tears from my cheeks as if to say
“It’s ok mom.”
He always seemed so concerned for me when I was upset.
We walked into the vet’s with heavy hearts but Winston trotted in proudly.
He greeted the vet with his usual enthusiasm and sloppy wet tongue.
The question kept ringing in my head “Are we really doing the right thing?”
I couldn’t make the words go away yet I knew that we had made the
right decision.
The vet explained what she would be doing in an soft voice.
My husband and I positioned ourselves on the floor on either side of
our beloved dog. As the Drug ran through him he gently fell against my
chest and then onto my lap. I immediately changed my mind!
“Wait!” I yelled. “I was wrong! I don’t want to do this!
Come back!” I sobbed and lifted the front of his now limp body to my chest
rocking him back and forth. My husband gently removed Winston’s collar,
while tears streamed down his face. We slowly lowered him onto the floor
and rose to leave. The sight of him laying there so peacefully was of little
consolation to me.
We returned to a house that had a huge void. Our other Boxer
Brittany immediately knew that something was different. Her companion
had not come home with us. She looked at us with searching eyes but I
believe that she instinctively knew she would never see him again. As
the days went by the hole in our lives seemed to grow larger instead of
smaller. Brittany took up post on the couch with her head resting on
the back of it silently staring out the window and waiting for
Winston’s return. She stopped playing and she ate less than before.
We all felt the emptiness and pain of our great loss.
As Christmas approached the holiday boxes were pulled from storage.
While unpacking the festive decorations Winston’s stocking happened to
be on top. I sat with his Christmas stocking in my hand and sobbed.
Five weeks had passed but the pain had not lessened. Brittany was
still moping and we discussed that she might need another four-legged
companion. I found a litter of Boxer puppies in the paper. I was not
certain that I was ready to add another dog to our family but I decided
that I would at least go look at the puppies.
Anyone who has ever seen a litter of Boxer puppies is immediately
under their spell. I should have known that once I had seen them I would
never be able to leave without one. One puppy in particular instantly
grabbed my adoration. The pups were still too young to be weaned but I
knew this puppy would be ours.
She came home with us on New Year’s eve. Brittany began to eat
more stopped gazing longingly out the window and resumed her playfulness.
Of course the puppy would never replace Winston. She did however
help to fill the void. We named our new addition Dakota.
The house was once again alive.
Over a year has passed and tears still spring to my eyes sometimes.
Does time heal all wounds?
I don’t know but a puppy sure helps!
| Winston |