Traveling with the Ancient One

This morning, when I rolled over to pet Winnie, she wasn’t in her bed. Unfortunately, she left something behind.

As I picked it up and deposited it in the toilet, it occurred to me that traveling with one ancient dog, one senior dog and one dog in the prime of life may prove to be something of a challenge.

Sadly enough, time has not slowed its unkind march for Winnie. She’s still spry enough, although she thinks twice these days before she decides if she really wants to go upstairs, and is content to let me lift her into the back of the Dogmobile. Harry says Winnie seems to be a little on the forgetful side, too. She’ll wander into the kitchen and get that look on her face (that look I so often get). You know, that look that says, "Now, why did I come in here?" And sometimes, while we’re on a walk, she’ll stop suddenly, get a surprised look on her face, and just drop a turd right there in the middle of the sidewalk.

Some might say I should just leave Winnie at home. You know, the "let a sleeping dog lie" thing; just let her relax on her couch and go on with her days as they always are. But Harry and I both agree - Winnie would be heartbroken if she was left behind without Tim and Star. Anthropomorphism? Nope. The three of them are a pack. They truly love each other, and they love doing things together. And Winnie, Star, and Tim love me more than anything in the world.

So, Winnie is definitely going. But I have to face some hard facts. Winnie may die on this trip. When you’re an eighteen year old greyhound, the promise of another morning is by no means guaranteed, and although not all stress is bad stress, traveling in an unknown vehicle to unknown parts and sleeping in unknown places, even though she will be with almost all of her family, is going to be stressful. And stress takes a toll on a body.

Of course, Tim could also die. He’s on daily medications to help his failing kidneys. Still, Tim seems to be holding his own. His blood values have stabilized, and his seizures have ceased, so I’m comfortable that he’ll make it with no troubles. I’m not worried at all about my Star. She’s in the prime of her life, a happy, lively, sinewy bundle of muscle and bone that just exudes health and vigor. Yes, I know, there’s always the possibility that we could all get into a fiery accident and die a horrible death. And I could walk out of my office building and get hit by a bus. But, for some reason, none of that worried me nearly as much as figuring out what to do with the shell of what used to be a beautiful, fleet-footed, loving sighthound if she abandons her mortal coil when we are far from home.

I was contemplating these deep thoughts when my sister called.

"Hi, Pam! Hey, what am I going to do if Winnie dies on the trip?" I asked.

"Excuse me?" Her voice almost squeaked on the last bit. I must have caught her unprepared.

"I was just thinking about it. Winnie could die on the trip. What would I do with her body?"

Pam was silent as she considered.

I couldn’t help it - I burst out laughing. "Sorry! I just had this mental image of tying her on top of the RV, like in ‘Summer Vacation.’"

"Or ‘Little Miss Sunshine!’" We both laughed for a while. It was cathartic.

She said, "Well, you know what you could do is put her in a trash bag, and then put her in the bathroom and close the door."

"And then what? I can’t imagine leaving her in there for the whole trip!" I made a face as I considered the smell. (I have a very good imagination.) "I suppose I could take her to the next town and see if there’s a veterinary hospital that would cremate her and send me the ashes."

Another thoughtful silence. "Yeah, you could do that."

"Or I guess I could just bury her somewhere." I paused and reconsidered. "No. I couldn’t do that. It just doesn’t seem dignified, and I would hate it if something dug her up and ate her. Plus, it might not be legal."

To Pam's relief, our conversation moved on to other things, but when Harry picked me up for lunch, I brought the topic up and we talked about it on the way home. I was surprised when Harry told me he doesn’t think Winnie is even going to last until our departure date. I definitely don't agree with that assessment. I have to keep in mind, though, that Harry doesn't see Winnie chasing Star around; hasn't seen her dive into a play bow, barking at me while patting the carpet with her front paws. He doesn't see her jump into bushes looking for bunnies. These are things I see almost daily. The Winnie he sees is the one who's tired from a long run; the one who carefully looks before leaping onto the settle; the one who waits patiently for me to lift her up into the Dogmobile.

When we pulled up in front of the house, Winnie was at the front door looking for us, those big, long ears of hers standing straight up, and Harry and I high-fived each other, just like we do every day we see her standing there.

I feel much better, having had those conversations. Kind of like I have a plan. And so, with that out of the way, my course is clear. This weekend, I will buy rubber sheets.

And, hopefully, I won’t need them.