Final Road Trip

This past week I had to say goodbye to my canine companion and best shotgun road trip partner. It was a tough few days, especially those leading up to her appointment. I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to call and cancel that appointment, but that would have been selfish and no way to honor the companion who had given me so much of herself over the last 13 years.

I met Baby in 2008. She was three. I was an overnight vet tech in an animal ER. By day, I worked at the animal shelter. It was a cold night and Baby had been brought in for antifreeze poisoning before my shift. By the time I got there, she’d bitten almost all of the staff. I was warned to be careful. She laid in her cage, hooked up to an IV concoction to make her better. I could tell by the look in her eyes she was afraid. The time came to take her out, check her vitals and clean her cage. I approached quietly and calmly. She looked at me with dark brown eyes, as if warning me to leave her alone. I spoke softly, moved slowly and began to fall in love with this soul. We walked, I cleaned her and her cage, re-hooked her IV, and not once did she attempt to bite me. We repeated that process several more times that night, plus two additional overnight shifts. She was making progress.

I wished her well on my final shift for the week and never expected to see her again. When I showed up the following week, I was surprised to still see her there. Her owners had abandoned her. Something tugged and before I knew it, I’d mentioned I could take her if she needed a home. She needed me and, though I didn’t really know it at the time, I needed her too.

For legal reasons, Baby had to stay at the clinic for four weeks. So, for four weeks, she and I bonded. When I would arrive at the clinic, her little tail would wag at the sight of me. She’d follow me around while I worked as if I were her world.

The time came to take her home. It turns out this little dog was a miracle, and part of the reason I believe in them. Although she had been poisoned, her bloodwork showed no signs of it. There was still no guarantee as to the long-term effects of the incident. So, home she went. She was afraid of everything and everyone, except me. She tolerated my daughter, but I think that had to do with the fact she fed her, not because she liked her.

In June 2009, I made the move to Lincoln with three dogs, six cats, three birds, a horse and a teenager. In 2011 the teenager graduated from high school and returned to PA. Also in 2011, I met my other half. Baby liked him almost right off the bat. There’s this saying about dogs. If they don’t like someone, there’s probably a reason for that, but if they do, the person is probably an okay individual. I firmly believe this.

In 2012, I took a job in Billings at their animal shelter. We hadn’t found a place to rent, so I rented a room from a co-worker and came home to Lincoln on my days off. Baby became my road trip partner, making the trips back and forth until we found a place of our own. She would lay in her bed in the passenger seat, go to work with me and we’d have all kinds of adventures. At lunchtime, we’d share a Costco hot dog.

In 2017, my dad was diagnosed with cancer. I began coming to Lincoln on weekends to visit him. Baby was again my road trip partner. During one of those first trips just after his diagnosis, he was sitting in his “comfy chair” and she walked over to him. He picked her up (and I held my breath). She settled quietly in his lap and he smiled. After one of his chemo treatments, he again sat in his chair. This time, she went over, jumped up in his lap and they took a nap. Dogs instinctively know when comfort is needed. She knew he needed comfort, companionship and she delivered. Even in my dad’s final days, she laid with him in bed while I sat with him holding his hand and telling him how much I loved him.

A couple of years ago, Baby lost her sight and most of her hearing. Recently, she’d lost control of her bladder, and while she still seemed okay and eating, wagging her tail, she slept most of her days away. I was still her person. Right up to the end, she was still teaching me lessons. In her time with me, she taught me how to trust, she taught me about life crumbling and starting over. She taught me about coping with life’s difficulties, no matter how big or small, and that obstacles can always be overcome.

So, last week we took our final road trip. She was 16. We enjoyed our final Costco hotdog as she sat in my lap in the passenger seat. She reminded me what an honor it is to be owned by a dog, to be their world and earn their love, and their trust. She passed peacefully with me by her side. This summer, her ashes will be joined with my dad’s in his fishing hole in Alaska. She loved him and he loved her, and that just seems the most fitting place to lay them together to rest.

There’s a hole in my heart without her here. Someday, another dog will help mend it. Until then, I have all of these amazing memories, and life lessons I learned from her.