You’d think that a dog that wanted in the car that badly would be quiet and content cruising down the road. We’ve all had a dog like that, a dog that would stand immobile with its head sticking out the window, tongue lolling with drops of slobber occasionally flecking the rear side window. I once had a dog that would close its eyes and open its mouth in the wind so that its big floppy lips would balloon out and its teeth would be exposed. But this old dog wasn’t like that. Once in the car she would get fidgety, moving constantly, occasionally stepping into my lap as I drove. When I’d stop the car and open the door, she’d push over me to get out first, and I’d wonder why a dog that had been so impatient to get in the car would want out so badly. But in all of that, the getting in, the getting out, and the ride in between, she trusted me to take her on some adventure, to find her food and water while we were gone, and to bring her home so that she could leap out of the car and race across our lawn.
How many times had we gone out when I’d stop to get something to eat and would end up buying a burger for her too because I couldn’t stand having her watch me while I ate if she didn’t also have something to eat? Of course, that didn’t work out all that well because she’d wolf her burger down in three snapping lunging head movements just as I was starting mine, so she’d end up watching me eat anyway with that intent “what about me” look. Sorry, girl. You had yours.
I think back to when we first got her, a dog pound dog, and how she would embarrass me in our neighborhood by bolting from me, requiring me to hunt her down to bring her back. Who had had her during her first two years, that she’d had no training, no natural dog-desire to stick by her companion? Why did she cower if I moved my arm in a way that she considered threatening? How had she gotten the scars on her front legs? Who had hurt her and why?
Eventually, it didn’t matter. She settled to me and knew she was safe. She learned what so many people never learn and what dogs know automatically when they’re loved, that contentment comes from being close and that when you care about someone there’s no reason to squabble or complain. And my contentment came on those spring days when I’d look out the window and see her lying on her side on the back porch in the direct sunlight, eyes closed, absorbing the heat until she heard a sound from the house and came padding in to make sure she wasn’t being left behind.
So as I motioned her into the car this last time, the old dog trusted me as she had trusted me by then for years. She didn’t leap with the same intensity as she had when younger, she was slower and a bit quieter in her movements but her eyes were bright with that same look of anticipation. We were going for a ride.
Something was wrong with her and we’d been to the vet a couple of times in the last month. She hated going there so much that her tail would find its way between her legs and her head would droop as soon as she saw the building. And so it was this time too. The vet asked me if I wanted to stay and I said yes. He said it would be easier if she were up on the table, the table she hated so much. So I lifted her up. By now she was shaking and I held her close. I faced her as she stood there with her head against mine, her muzzle over my shoulder and my arms around her neck and as always when she got a shot, she didn’t even flinch. Her back legs went weak first, but then her front legs splayed out and couldn’t support her either. As the strength left her, I laid her down on her side and kept talking to her. But what do you say?
It had to be done and I knew it. No regrets there. But in the time since what has bothered me the most is the way she jumped right into that car, trusting me as always, ready for a ride. Just like old times.