The Crisis
August 27th, sometime after 5pm, Honor stands up and takes one step toward me, where I stand in the bedroom. I turn to look at her since she doesn’t come into the bedroom much anymore. The hardwood floor is too slippery for her now. Normally, she lies down to wait for us just beyond the threshold, on the living room carpet.
So, as I am folding clothes, I see Honor stand. As soon as she steps toward me, blood pours from her mouth. I reach her as a second gush hits the carpet. I freeze as I fight against panic. Not Honor. She calmly walks down the hall to her water bowl and gulps water. I stare in disbelief as her blood fills the bowl. We had planned for the mobile vet to come to our home tomorrow to euthanize our dog, but here we are. In crisis.
Charley, who has just finished showering, looks shocked when he opens the bathroom door to see a trail of droplets leading to the now crimson water bowl. I grab towels as he quickly dresses. He scoops up our precious girl.
The Storm
Just as we get Honor settled into the back seat, the skies open up with heavy rain and wind. Winds so hard, the automatic gate can’t open against them without Charley pushing on it. I drive through, then run around to the passenger side so he can take the wheel. I have an overwhelming need to have my hands on Honor. Rain and winds so hard, Charley has to drive around broken tree branches falling into the road.
The storm is unexpected. We welcome the rain after 50 consecutive dry days; the last 32 of which have had temps exceeding 100 degrees. This storm’s timing isn’t great, but nothing will stop Charley from getting us where we need to be. We have a graduation to attend.
This Familiar Route
The nearest 24/7 animal hospital is 28 miles away. Honor stares into my eyes most of these 28 miles. She is alert and breathing calmly. She looks oddly comfortable, seemingly unphased by all this blood. We are on the same road we took one Sunday almost seven years ago. Honor was bleeding then too, but then the bleeding was internal and she showed signs of pain. On this same path seven years ago, we prayed for Honor’s healing. We begged God for more time with her.
Seven years ago, EC staff gave Honor a blood transfusion and said the only other thing we could do was wait until morning. They said that they “would not wake the surgeon” for a dog in Honor’s condition, one who would likely die before or during surgery.
More Time With Our Dog
So, seven years ago, Charley and I laid with Honor on that clinic floor. We sang to her and asked her to stay with us. We held hands and, in agreement, we asked God for more time with our dog.
When EC staff called at 8am the following morning, they said they could not explain what had caused Honor’s bleeding. Nor could they figure out why she was still alive. The bleeding had inexplicably stopped.
Safe Passage
Today’s drive, we simply ask God to continue to shield Honor from pain as he readies her safe passage. We look into Honor’s knowing brown eyes and we tell her she is ready for this journey. We tell her what she already knows: what a good dog she is, how much we love her. All the Wynley Parkers will remember her. We also tell her we will be okay this time and we will see her again one day.
Honor’s Ultimate Journey
As soon as we pull into the EC parking lot, the rain stops. Unbelievable, but true. Charley climbs into the back of the SUV to be with Honor as I let the receptionists know why we’re here. They want to whisk Honor to the back to put in an IV. I politely and firmly decline.
We choose to wait with Honor in our car until the vet is ready for us, at which time Charley carries her inside and lays our summer girl, our athlete, on a soft orange beach towel (Charley’s favorite color). This room, the goodbye room, is stocked with Hershey’s kisses and Cheez Whiz. We put a dab of each in front of her nose. Honor isn’t interested in eating, but her sense of smell works fine.
We thank our dog for the ways that she has made us better people. We sing to her while the IV is placed, and we keep singing the Honor song as the first drug slips into the IV. Honor passes directly from the arms of her boy and her girl, into the arms of her Maker, just as we have promised her.
I help people prepare for the passing of their pets and still, I didn’t act quickly enough for Honor to get to die at home. This is why pet mortality planning matters.
Heaven’s Acknowledgment
The moment Charley opens the back door for us to leave Heart of Texas EC, the rain starts again. It rains on us as we stop at the store to get peroxide to clean the carpet, and it keeps raining on us until we get home. The rain stops as we are getting out of the SUV.
Charley and I clean blood out of the carpet for the next few hours, then we take our drinks to the porch to talk about Honor, where we are surrounded by our 4 Greats (Pyrenees). Charley’s phone alarm goes off as we’re talking, which is strange since Charley hadn’t set an alarm. It is 11:11pm; God’s reassurance that all is well.
