 |
There’s a cemetery on my property. Not for humans, although that’s legal in North Carolina, and I did tell my wife I’d be perfectly fine with her just dragging me over there and saving a few bucks when it’s my time to go.
Copper the Labrador is over there, along with Spike the rat terrier and Bailey-Boo the Pomeranian. Milo and Snickers, our last cats due to my allergies, are also eternally watching over the place. Then there’s Slater the Beta fish, a baby duck, a hamster and maybe even a turtle.
It’s awash with memories, is what it is, as the Brown Barn doesn’t treat pets like animals – they’re family.
I got that from my Mom, who dedicated many years of her too-short life to helping rescue lost, forgotten and homeless pets, as well as raising money for spay and neuter programs. She was fearless and passionate, the kind of person who would knock loudly on a neighbor’s door if they had a dog tied up in the backyard without shelter when it was cold or raining.
Before Mom passed away, she had one last rescue in mind. My wife, Sharron, has always wanted a little lap dog and, since Bailey-Boo was only with us for a few months and we already had two others at home, a Pomeranian would be perfect. Lo and behold, one day friends who volunteered with Mom spotted The Dog Who Would Be Named Ruby aimlessly wandering among vehicles at a dangerous intersection in northwest Alabama.
 |
They cleaned her up and posted information about her on pet message boards for two weeks without response. Many cuddles later, along with hundreds of dollars in grooming and veterinary bills, she became a member of the family.
Cherokee Scout readers were introduced to Ruby in my column on Sept. 21, 2016. She was the last gift from my Mom, which made her extra special. You might have seen her, too, as she was a regular presence with my wife around town.
One week ago today, my wife and I buried Ruby next to Spike in our pet cemetery. The veterinarian figured she was between 13 and 15 years old, and her body was just giving out. She was blind, going deaf, in the fifth stage of heart disease and couldn’t do anything by herself.
Yet my wife and I held out hope, as she carried Ruby around the house with her like a fluffy accessory. We didn’t move any furniture so Ruby might be able to navigate. We looked for clues in her behavior to tell us what she wanted. And Sharron took her out to use the bathroom several times a day, including in the rain at 4 a.m.
If you knew nothing about my wife other than how she cared for Ruby over the last year, that would be more than enough for you to know that she’s an exceptional person.
But for all the four-legged family friends I’ve had over five-plus decades, I never had to set a date with a vet knowing it was the final walk. It always happened naturally, or we had to make a quick call due to medical circumstances.
Knowing days in advance exactly when something you love is going to die can really mess with your head – even when you know, without question, that it’s the right thing to do. I’d look at the clock and torture myself by thinking, “Ruby’s not going to be with us in 16 hours.” It also brought up a host of other emotions, as no one ever quits missing their Mom.
When the moment came, with God’s grace it was peaceful. Not gonna lie, it hurt like hell, but the expertise and compassion at Alpine Veterinary Center made it as bearable as possible. One minute she was eating, then riding in the car – her two favorite things in this world – and the next she was gone.
I have to believe Ruby crossed a Rainbow Bridge of sorts and was greeted by my Mom. I have to believe all souls with the capacity to love have a chance to live on. I have to believe that, because I refuse to believe I will never see them again.
Even when they’re just 5.7 pounds of furball.
David Brown is publisher of the Cherokee Scout. You can reach him by phone, 837-5122; email, dbrown@cherokeescout.com; or Twitter @daviddBstroh.