a good, and a sad day

   I went over to Heather's tonight, along with her mom and Lissa. I was there first and asked, well, begged, if I could play GH3, since no one was there yet. She graciously said yes and set me up on Bill's account. The problem was that he hasn't gotten far enough in the game for me to be able to play The Cliffs of Dover. Its in the very last set, the seventh, I think. So, I asked if I could just start with a new character and work my way down. She said yes and away I went. 

   Marti came next and I got to give her the birthday present that I forgot at home yesterday, which she seemed to really like, and it did look good on her -a bright yellow t-shirt with sunflowers on it. She and Heather sat and talked while I played and listened until Lissa came, then we all said our hellos, got some dinner (leftover wedding fare) and I ate and listened. 

   I finally got to the set with The Cliffs of Dover in it, and of course, it was late and I was tired, but at least I got to play it, and the next time I go over there, it won't be so hard to be able to play again. Doesn't matter, I got a good dose for my 

GH fix.

  We all left kinda early, still kinda tired from the weekend, and I tried to follow the stupid Garmin, but this time it took me to Warner and down to the 60 to got home. I think I have a Garmin who either has a warped sense of humor or holds a grudge against things said against it. I'll have to watch that in the future.

   When I got to mom and dad's house, it felt different as soon as I walked in. I could tell something was wrong right away. Hank was breathing really hard, and was laying on his stomach in a really odd position, with his legs kinda splayed. Mom and dad didn't look too good. I asked what was going on and mom asked if I could help dad load Hank into the car and take him to the 24 hour clinic for a shot and then bring him home again. I looked and her and asked her what was going on. He has been having a hard time walking the entire time I've been here - his hips just aren't acting right, his belly is distended, and you can tell he can barely walk. It turns out tonight that he fell into the empty pool and couldn't get himself out this time. When dad tried to lift him out, he was crying out in pain. What they needed from me was to help dad carry him to put him in the Jeep and take him around the corner to the clinic and get the euthanasia shot and then bring his body back home so dad can could bury him.

   We worked out a few of the details, like which Jeep to take (dad didn't want to take mom's Jeep because he likes to keep that one nice for her, but there was enough room for him in the back in that one and not in the white one), I came in and suggested to dad, and mom, that they just stay home and let me take care of it. Dad especially, since Hank was really his dog. He said the clinic would help me take him in and out, and that was the biggest part. Unless dad was really insistent on going, which would have been fine, I didn't think he needed the heartache and stress. It really didn't take much convincing.

   We put Hank on a towel and put him in the back of the Jeep and I drove him to the clinic around the corner on Country Club. I walked in and it was nearly empty, so she started helping me almost instantly, getting the story, giving me the paperwork and calling the techs with the stretcher.

   I hadn't gotten very far on the paperwork when the techs came out and we went out to the Jeep. The woman tech, named Sarah, very gently wrapped him in the towel and picked him up and put him on the gurney. I shut the back hatch and we walked back into the clinic and I went to the reception desk. He went to a room, but he never took his eyes off me as they wheeled him into the room.

   When the got him settled in there, the woman I was dealing with called me in and told me that she could finish the paperwork while I sat with him. She asked me some questions about his general demeanor so they would know what to expect, but I assured them he was a sweetheart.

   When the doctor finally came in, they were going to put a catheter in but he changed his mind. He shaved Hank's leg for a vein and Hank didn't budge. When they gave him the shot, his reaction was to put his chin down on my forearm and relax. They laid him down from being on his stomach to being on his side, and just about that fast he was gone.

   He didn't seen afraid at all. There was no fear in his eyes, not of the people, not of the stretcher (which was really a gurney), not of the cutters that shaved him or the final shot. I was petting him and the techs and doctor were all touching and talking to him, and the doctor kept a stethoscope on him so they would know for sure when he was gone. He was a few post passing huffs from his lungs, but that was it.

   They knew that we wanted to take his body home with us, so they offered us a cardboard box, built somewhat like a coffin. As I went out to pay the bill, the techs took care of assembling it and putting him in it (I was there when he first went in it so I could see that it was a good fit), then they put the lid on it and taped it down good, then put it on the gurney and took it back out to the Jeep again. 

   At one point, while I was trying to fill out the paper work, a woman came over to me and gave me a very warm hug. I told her it wasn't my dog but my parents and she told me that I had angels wings on, then she left the clinic. That meant a lot to me. I thought it was a very thoughtful thing for do to a person in obvious distress.

   Anyway, I drove the Jeep and Hank back home and backed into the garage, and shut the garage door. Pop is just too exhausted to do anything tonight. When I came in and told him it was done, and about the cardboard casket, his eyes were really red. I gave him a big hug and he thanked me for helping me. But he's done it so many times for other people - he took such good care of Nala after she died. I'll never forget that. He buried her with such loving care, I was so glad that I could make this a little easier for him, although it won't be easier for a long time.

   I have to admit that with Father's Day coming up the idea of a little dog for dad has crossed my mind, but that has to clear the mom hurdle first.

   So, a very full day. Hank was a really special dog that's going to be missed by the whole family. We lucked into him and he blessed up with his presence for as long as we got to have him, but, in turn, I think mom and dad definitely made his life better for him, too. You can't write a better epitaph than that. We'll miss you, Hank.