# 161 Goodbye, Redbones

I woke up around 7 a.m. yesterday hearing a dog barking, I thought. I slipped on my boots and walked through the house calling, "Pogo!" I thought the noise came from my rat terrier who sleeps with me. Then I heard it again and realized it was a crying from Redbones, the sixteen year old beagle we brought with us from Virginia twelve years ago. He was the last dog still living who had made that move with us. I looked out into the front of the house and saw him lieing on the sandy ground. I hurried out to him. He was struggling to breathe and could not get up. His mouth was open, and his tongue looked dry. There was sand and debris in his mouth. I hurried back to the house to get a towel to put under his head and a glass of water so I could put water onto his mouth. Redbones struggled to get up but couldn't. I noticed a new pile of poop that was his, and I wondered if he had noticed my anger about his constant pooping and peeing in the house for the last few days. In retrospect, that was a sure sign that he was failing. He had eaten very little of his dinner the night before too. I called Tasha who was on the way to work, and she said she'd turn around. I wanted to put him down. There was no point in him suffering anymore. The little beagle's whole body worked to get him each breath of air. I began asking God to take him and end his suffering. This was a mistake because the little dog continued suffering, and I found myself growing angry at God. Couldn't He just release this little animal from his pain. It is a trap to ask God for anything beyond strength for yourself because you are most probably not going to get what you asked for. But I had fallen into the trap, feeling angry at God, and realizing while I was being emotional how other people had lost their faith after seeing other people suffer for very long periods of time with no intervention from God. Finally, the little warrior seemed to struggle even harder with his breathing, tried valiantly to get up, and collapsed into a quietness. There were two other hard breaths as his heart realized it was dying, and then he was gone. I composed myself as much as I could and called Tasha again. I said only, "Flowers" and hanged up. She called back immediately, but I didn't answer. I had hoped she would figure out what I meant and stop at a grocery store for flowers in his grave. But that's not Tasha's style, and she arrived with no flowers to cover him with. After she left, I braced myself with a vodka tonic, dug his grave, and buried him with the rest of the dead dogs.
Redbones was brought home by Hawkeye who hid the dog in his closet for several days so I wouldn't notice him. He was being abused by some fat woman up the road. Redbones had already become very attached to Tasha, following her on her eight mile runs in the country. I tried to get Tasha to get a concealed weapons permit and carry a short gun on her runs, but she wouldn't. Then I tried to get her to carry a gun if she wouldn't get the permit. She had worked for the commonwealth attorneys office, and I was sure no one would charge her. Then I gave up. Who knew, maybe Redbones would bite anyone who approached her.
My most memorable moment with Bones came one afternoon up in Virginia. A couple walked by with its chow, a big, black dog. The chow saw me by the house and came toward me. I picked up a lawn chair and folded it to use as a weapon if necessary. The couple looked over as if they could care less about what their precious little dog was doing. Redbones saw my predictament from the front porch, and he quickly put himself between the Chow and me. That gave me time to get onto the screened-in front porch where I had access to many things I could protect Bonser with, if needed. But Bones sensibly beat a dignified retreat from the big Chow and joined me on the porch.
What a smart, courageous guy!
Bye, Bones.
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Peter "Two-Guns" Nickerson, MS, MSW at peternickerson12@yahoo.com.