with Carol in July
with me, June campout in Big Sur
I do and I don’t want to forget this day. The past several months, Poppy has been clingy, maybe feeling uncomfortable because of her kidney disease. Last week I was wishing she could pee normally. But as they say, “Be careful what you wish for,” because yesterday she let loose with a puddle on the hardwood floor.
Before walking her, I surveyed the back yard. There on the path was a normal-looking #2. I never thought I’d be so happy to see one of these; her elimination had been out of whack since the vet put her on a low-protein diet. I found her lead and a pet refuse bag, and invited her out. She bounded over with almost her former intensity, and exploded out the gate once I opened it. She soon ran out of gas, but we walked fully 20 minutes.
Carol would be out most of the day; I worked from home so Poppy wouldn’t be alone. The past few days I prepared her meals from leftovers. Poppy was refusing the weird stuff from the vet, and didn’t even want her old kibble. On this morning I put a little water and rice on the stove, and some salmon, under her close supervision. After it simmered a few minutes, I stirred in a fiber capsule, let it cool for a bit, and walked it to her crate. “Sit!” I commanded. She promptly obeyed. Placing her bowl on the floor, I said, “OK,” and she fell to.
In a couple of minutes she found me and gave me her “More?” look. I scooped a handful of her formerly-favorite kibble into her bowl. She ate most of that, and then stopped. “Well,” I thought, “She must be feeling better.”
A while later, it was time to go to the bank. “Want to go for a ride?” I called.
She jumped off the couch and looked at me expectantly. I gathered my things and she followed me to the garage. The van is too high for her to get into by herself, so I lifted her onto my seat. She jumped to the passenger side. I lowered her window, belted myself in, and off we went. About half-way through town, she began looking toward my window. “Want to come over?” I asked.
At the next traffic signal, I scooted back a few inches, and she took a tentative step. I lifted her onto my lap, and as the light turned green, she put her paws onto the door. A few blocks later, she wanted to go back; I gave her a one-handed boost to the passenger seat.
I left both front windows open a few inches. “I’ll be back in a flash,” I told her, and went into the bank.
I returned to find her in the driver’s seat. “Excuse me,” I said as I opened the door. She returned to the passenger seat and we went for her last ride back to the house. I gave her a half-tablet of the antiemetic, to help her feel more comfortable in her final hours.
I fed her for the last time. Well, almost the last: she came to me in the kitchen with her “Carrot?” look. I handed her one, which she cheerfully chomped. (She did that Monday, too, but immediately vomited the whole thing. This time everything stayed down.)
Carol came home to take Poppy to the vet. I just wanted to be somewhere else, so I gathered a few things and went to the office. Poppy followed me outside. Maybe she suspected something was up, because when I leave I always say, “Be a good girl”; this time I knelt down and stroked her fur. “I’m sorry, Poppy,” I said. “I’m so sorry.” I’m sure she could tell I was really broken up about something.
At work it was “Employee Appreciation Week” and there was an ice cream social. But I didn’t want ice cream and didn’t feel social, so I skipped it. I did something vaguely productive and went home. As I entered the house there was no jingle of Poppy’s tags on her collar, no little footsteps.
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