Booked Up: Seeing Our Way Home
by Babette M. Alliger
Rufus is dying. The last three months he’s been down and now I have to hold him up, no matter what, or he’ll fall down.
Not much of a life, but he seems happy. He eats well and still runs the show from his place, but a few days ago my other two dogs wouldn’t go downstairs past him to go out in the morning.
So I realize it’s him they feel, and they seem to know something I do not. So I have to get him up. This is so hard. He can’t sit up to even begin to stand. So I put my feet next to some paws that slide out from under him and I use my arms to lift his rear end and I speak strongly to him.
“Come on, come on, help me, come on,” and he rallies.
He’s just inside the door and when we get out, he urinates right away. I can’t let go anymore. He can’t stand on his own. When he’s finished we head to the grass area near the horses and he doesn’t make it. He collapses in the dirt gravel parking area.
The horses start snorting and sniffing, first running away and then back at him. I know from all these reactions that this is the day I have to deal with his goodbye. I always knew his weight was going to be a problem but it’s worse than I thought.
You see he’s a St. Bernard, Shepherd mix, weighing in at 130 pounds in his prime. Now, since he’s not moving, he’s larger. I’m guessing 140 to 150 and not easy to deal with. I phone my vet, Dr. Leigh, and he tells me that the price of euthanasia is done by weight. After all is said and done, it will cost over $400.
Times are unusual for me right now. So I phone my mother and she says her gardener, Alejandro, can dig a hole for me. Then I phone my brother J.B., an ex-army 82nd Airborne soldier who recently moved back to the area, to see if he could help with putting Rufus down.
“Oh, this is hard for you,” he said. “I know how you love this guy and yes, I can do it, but you can’t be there. It’s messy and I don’t want you to see it. I’m at an old classic car show and I won’t be back for three days.”
I said, “No problem, Alejandro needs to dig a hole for me.”
Alejandro came. He saw which of my dogs it was and, though he speaks no English, he said, “Oh my God, oh my God!” He gave Rufus a big hug and went up the hill, with his brother, next to a spot where Angel, a family member’s Pit-bull was buried. An hour later a large, deep hole had been dug.
As the days go on Rufus is not strong when it comes to eating his food, but he finishes eventually and is still drinking lots of water.
Flyer and Boo Boo, my other two dogs, are still funny about him, truly uncomfortable. I get Rufus up, for sure, once a day and I try to get him up one more time in the evening. I’m just doing my best and I’m still loving him just the same.
The weekend has passed and I know my brother is now home. I give him a day or so, but then I wake up and Rufus is a mess. He didn’t eat the night before. I can’t get him up and he can’t help me. So I go and make the call. I said, “It’s time,” and he said, “Be right there.”
My brother and I are Irish twins. We were like two little puppy dogs, among a pack, growing up. We saw life together and went through it all. But as we’ve gotten older, we have become unfamiliar. Too many lies floated around my life and he was daunted by this. It was sad for me because I’m still here. I have stayed true and strong but he can’t see me. He seems to clump me in with all the other girls now, and I miss him.
Unbelievably, he’s at my home in twenty-five minutes. He walks right up to me, sees Rufus and says, “I can’t do it. He’s your family.” At this moment I truly love him, his heart and his soul.
Babette M. Allinger is a Middleburg writer. This is the first of three parts from a short story that will be continued the next two months.