We bundled him up and brought him to the emergency vet near our house. The staff was amazing. It was "all hands" as they cleared the table and hooked up an oxygen tube to dangle near his nose. All at once the howling stopped as Beethoven... got utterly transfixed by the wiggly tube shooting a breeze at him. "Hey, a toy!!"
The giggle everyone got from that was short lived as pain over took the poor boy and he began howling again. We went home to get Courtney, then back to the hospital to say goodbye to one special cat. I think that was the first time I saw a doctor cry.
Back at the house, Ripley was still pressed hard up against the fireplace - the "terror" position she took when Beethoven's event first took place. I patted her a little bit, kissed her nose, and let her be, assuming she'd calm down after a bit.
Ripley had been with us since our return from Germany - a little more than eleven years. In that time she'd lost a number of best buddies to coyotes (Jones and Rex) and idiots speeding down Cedros Avenue (Suds and the irrepressible Pete Krusty LeMieux (aka, Sweet Fluffy LaHoo)). After each loss, Ripley would go into a period of mourning; sometimes deep enough to threaten her own health. It took a few years for Ripley to decide to even be friends with Beethoven - I think she really got tired of having to say goodbye - but when the two of them did bond, it was exceptionally strong.
But by Monday we knew it was more than mourning, and after a number of visits by our wonderful veterinarian, Cathy Eppinger, we decided that she didn't deserve the indignity of the treatment required to keep her alive with failed kidneys.
Ripley left us five short days after Beethoven did.
After lunch on the following day Phil and I stopped by Petland in the old Crossroads mall. I know, I know, don't buy pets from stores in malls, but, but... while Phil was trying to awaken a Golden Retriever puppy without tapping on the glass, this fat little lab mix puppy in the cage below stopped mauling her brothers, stood on her hind legs and said "HEY MISTER, DOWN HERE!" Phil redirected his attention and the rest is history.
Really, who could resist?
We all fell in love with Gracie immediately - even Otto, our Newfoundland mix treated her like a hallowed gift for which he was entirely responsible. She was our family Band-Aid, mending the wound left by the loss of Beethoven and Ripley.
Gracie is the smartest dog I've ever met. Her training essentially consisted of a sit down meeting in which we enumerated the do's and don'ts of living in the Weeks house. We negotiated a few - like couch time and that any food not consumed in the time it took Otto to finish his own dinner would revert to his possession. This kept Gracie svelte for many years.
Yes, she was svelte and black at one point.
Grace was our athlete. She perfected the rules for The Greatest Game in the World. Our inability to fully understand the game's mechanics has resulted in a final score 84,287 - 2, with Gracie as the Grand Champion. In her youth, Gracie was a jet engine on land and in water. She didn't run across the grass, she'd lower herself and pull the earth under her. There was no stick too far, and no frisbee too high. (This is not to imply she was any good at catching them, but she was crazy-good at stopping them with her face.)
In the years since, Gracie graciously tolerated the arrival of new kittens, even the fearless Scuff, who thought he'd be able to tear Gracie limb from limb and feast on her for months. She was less gracious about the arrival of the infant Hagrid, who was intolerably adorable. However, once she realized she was allowed to play with him (a hilarious story, likely to be shared at some point in the future), she fell nose over paws in love with him, a condition that holds true today.
Ow. No really, Ow.
It seems like only yesterday that we were giving baby Gracie a boost into the house. Just last weekend that she could flatten herself like a squirrel to get to her pile of golden treasures under the deck. Just this morning that she stood on a sea wall utilizing her vast psychic resources to will an elderly gentleman's ice cream cone to the ground.
But in the real world, what this morning brought was her slow progress up the stairs to the living room. Pained grunts and the drag of grossly arthritic joints and atrophied muscles. Gracie's given up on being embarrassed by incontinence anymore, a condition that, today, has expanded to include anything incontinent-able.
At thirteen plus years, the very best thing about a Labrador Retriever becomes the very worst thing about a Labrador Retriever. Indomitable joy, relentless hope (hope = a cookie in every hand), and a constant smile from ear to ear. Sadly, I think all Gracie holds now is hope. And while a cookie is always welcome (there's a reason Labs grace so many cookie and kibble packages), Phil and I are starting to realize Gracie, sweet, old, grey-faced Gracie, is hoping for the pain to go away.
We procrastinate, and Gracie keeps wagging that crooked, arthritic tail. Phil left a message for Dr. Eppinger, who isn't technically practicing medicine right now, to see if Gracie's first vet could maybe be her last vet. We haven't heard back, and maybe we hope not to hear back - at least for a while.
Joy and sorrow. Joy and sorrow. One magnifies the other and as time passes, you sometimes wonder if there's ever an in-between. Of course there is. And off we go to enjoy some in-between time.
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