Waiting for doG

No, the title has nothing to do with a dyslexia moment, at least not this time. The weather turned mild and brought a half inch of rain with it. Between the rain and the existing 6" cover of snow, there was a whole lotta water going on ... and it ran towards the creeks as usual. We even made the treacherous trek across the canyon to confirm our suspicions. Yep, running, and running well. It would be very telling that we wouldn't see a single vehicle go by for the next several days.

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The timing was not good, at all, at all. Our exuberant pup, Brou, became ill just before the rains set in. He could no longer eat without vomiting and his tail-less behind became a mess from scouring expulsions. His joys in life and exuberance dwindled rapidly over the following days and we watched with incredible anxiety as the creek ran free. From his dog owning experiences, Virgil seconded my suspicion that Brou had probably consumed something or perhaps a collection of things which had blocked his intestines. We waited and we hoped to no avail as he continued to decline. Not even a kitty passing by or trying to put a sock on would now arouse his old passions.

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A new snow came late Tuesday night and left 4 inches of itself behind. Brou ran off and disappeared Wednesday morning in his last request for a widdle outing. He would not respond to our calls as usual. I paced for a couple hours and then set out to track him down, very grateful for this new snow in that regard. With his declining energy, it was an easy enough trail to follow until it reached the mesa wall. From there, his lighter weight body left tracks ascending up the face. As I followed, I crashed down through layers of snow which had been nothing more than a covering over boughs and vegetation, my ankles and knees breaking through and hitting hard on the jagged rocks below. I finally had to plant my bare hands down into the snow ahead to disperse my weight and steady myself. It was a laborious climb and I was heaving for breath by the time I reached Brou. I had been scanning the likely coyote holes in the eroded sandstone when I finally saw Brou. He was lying out in the open on a snow drift. When our eyes met, his look was one of "Please just leave me alone here to die, okay?" My own tormenting miseries of late and similar feelings came back to haunt me. I pleaded to no avail and then felt compelled to turn back and descend the treacherous path back down to the rat trailer, utterly heart broken. I did not have the heart and hypocrisy to enforce upon him that which I would not have wished for myself. But that could not ease the torturous thoughts ensuing.

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Mark and I spent the remainder of the day in abject but silent misery, both too upset with the possibilities of being stranded here with a little friend's likely fatal illness. It was one thing to rationalize the situation if either of us should became this ill but quite another to consider a little creature who relied upon us for his welfare. The tension was mud-thick with quiet sorrow. Among many thoughts, I angrily recalled the 'prophecy' which the vile creature who bought our house had cast upon Mark. She was a Soviet mail order bride and probably the most unpleasant and self-serving creature we have ever met. No, not probably, she was. Whether in an obnoxious pout for not being the center of attention as we helped her husband prematurely unload their belongings into our house, it's hard to say but when Mark kindly tried to make conversation with her, she offered this charmer: "I hab geefts, you see. For eenstance, when I first see you, I see that you veel suffer a longk and 'orreeble, 'orreeble death". It took Mark a few months to relate this disturbing pronouncement to me but it clearly had upset him. And now it upset me. "What a nasty, snake charmed bit of vitriol to share" I thought, "Even a two bit carnival fortune telling shyster knows better than to say such a thing." This comment would return again and again to haunt us and taint our joy of finally being remote enough to avoid such uncharming entities and their ilk in the future. This moment with Brou's severe troubles rekindled those thoughts of "a longk and 'orreeble death" and they hung like a black cloud over our painful, deep torments.

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Considering the weather circumstances, I was incredibly reluctant to have Mark risk crossing the running washes and roads into town. I too well remembered the stories of the ranch matron neighbor who had lost her husband on these roads. And so we both quietly agonized over the prospects of inaction.

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As the late afternoon forced the sun to dip behind the mesa and the long shadows brought the deep chills, I decided to go for a walk. At least for the previous couple of days, this event would bring Brou to rally and follow. I slipped on the mud-slogging boots and stepped outside, convinced that my departure would lure Brou down from his dying place of choice. No response, just a deafening silence from the wilderness. Then I heard Mark's muffled voice from inside the rat, "B-r-o-u-u-u-u!" and I flung the door open for an explanation. Brou had decided to come down and nestle in the sage just beyond the 45 footer. He looked at the house only furtively as though he was caught in severely conflicting thoughts of either dying alone or being comforted.

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Mark was the one to pick him up and carry him inside despite the yelpings of pain expressed by Brou. I had become personae non-grata with my previous and completely failed attempts at home remedies so was thankful that he still trusted Mark. Mark laid out a number of salvaged old curtains under the coffee table and Brou settled in. He no longer had any interest in eating or drinking but at least he was as content as the situation could allow. It had now been several days of agony for Brou but he eventually accepted my offers of tiny amounts of water. I dared not give him too much at a time now least he immediately expel it all again.

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I awoke unusually early this morning. The greater part of this urge was to see if Brou had survived the night. I was incredibly grateful to see the faint swell of his chest and his head rise a little in acknowledgement. Mark arose shortly after, clearly with the same hurtful question on his mind. We placed a call to Virgil and got a fresh assessment on the road conditions. The recent snow and the normal accompanying drop in temperatures had made the roads safely passable enough for a town trip attempt if Mark hit them before they thawed out.

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Mark warmed up the diesel and then collected whatever items were necessary; tire chains, cell phone, shovel, check book, extra coat, etc., etc.. The last of the items to be loaded was Brou, not that he was a willing tourist but we managed any way. I watched the truck until the very last of the steaming exhaust plumes were lost from sight. And then I pleaded as always for angels to guard their full journey's progress before I turned away to pace anxiously and incessantly thereafter, awaiting further word.
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