Our Sweet Puppy Dog

Our last days in Portland, Carbon followed us from room to room, looking up at us with anxious eyes.  Her breathing was raspy, as it has been for the last few months, an indication that the laryngeal paralysis was getting worse.  She could still jump up to the bed and curl next to me with a doggy sigh.   Contentment or resignation?  I was never sure which, but when I reached down to pet her, she would stretch alongside me and rub her head against my hand, demanding more of that ear action, please.  Simone would join us, sometimes purring on my chest, sometimes sitting in her library lion pose on my feet, sometimes rubbing her head against Carbon's.

They both knew something was up.

The car and truck were packed and M, our 3rd driver, was ready and waiting.  I sat with Carbon in front of me, as I stroked her ears, rubbed her chest, scratched her back.  D joined me, and we said goodbye, tears rolling down our cheeks.

Simone followed us to the cars and I picked her up for a final hug.  She purred and then leapt down and started rolling on the sidewalk.   I got in the car, and she sat up and watched me with slanted green eyes and pointed ears.  She has lived with us since she was 4 weeks old...now she is over 7, still kittenish in size, feisty and street smart.

We had a nice drive east through the Gorge, fetching up at Baker City for the night.  The next day we made it as far as Spanish Forks, just south of Provo UT.  As I checked my e-mail, I came across one from our upstairs renter.  Carbon had apparently collapsed outside the woodpile on Saturday after we left.  Her breathing was labored and she was foaming at the mouth.  J got her inside and lay with her at the foot of the stairs, stroking her, calming her.  The next morning Carbon was upstairs, sleeping on the rug in the big common room outside J's bedroom, back to normal.

I sent a thank you note.

Monday was Day 3 of the drive, and my 53rd birthday.  We had a long drive ahead of us:  through mountains of SE Utah, on into southern Colorado and then angling through New Mexico, our new home.  Lots of amazing rock formations and wild lonely country.

Outside of Moab, we stopped for gas and a bathroom break, and that's when the torture began.  I checked my phone:  a message from Mom wishing me a happy birthday, and a message from C, our Portland neighbor.  She had found Carbon collapsed in the street, foaming at the mouth, vulnerable to passing cars.  She carried Carbon inside the gate, got her some water, settled her on the porch, gave her some water, and put the large flower pot in front of the gate to keep her inside.

Apparently our renter, who is a professional dog sitter and dog walker, decided to lock Carbon out of the house, and Carbon started looking for us.

Over the next several hours, we called people all over Portland, trying to find someone with keys to the house to get Carbon back into safety.  J had confiscated the key we had left under the pot for our friends.  Our other renter and key-holder was not moving in until the next day.  H and S were still in Colorado with the spare keys and the CareCredit card.  We reached voice mails galore, and when we actually reached a person, the mountains started interfering with reception.  We dropped calls.  We called again.  Voices faded in and out.  It was agony.

We reach KJR, D's son.  His car was unavailable, so he walked several miles and sat with Carbon until our renter returned.  He got Carbon into the studio, which the b&b renters had just vacated.  Constant calls over the evening and next day, as Carbon's condition waxed and waned.  A trip to Dove Lewis emergency vet.  A call to the regular vet.  Discussions of medication and treatment.

Tuesday morning we arrange for M to help KJR sit with Carbon for the rest of the week, until Saturday, when H and S return to take over.

Early Wednesday morning, our son calls.  Carbon had gone outside, gone to the front gate, and then returned to the house.  Wearily, painfully, she walked back up the stairs, her arthritic legs laboring.  She walked into the house, lay down, and...passed.

There are no words to express our grief, guilt and gratitude.  We know we rescued her, gave her 5 years of love, received the same back.  We know we couldn't take her with us.  We know she was old and seriously ill.  We know that our son and our dog had a hellish 3 days.  We know that our careful plans did not cover this eventuality.  We know that Carbon was looking for us, missing us.  We know that we did the best we could.  We know that we have family we can count on. We know that our sweet puppy dog spent her last hours with someone who loved her as much as we did.

Today our son sent this message:

She loved the porch.  I love you guys.

Thank you.