“A dog teaches a boy fidelity, perseverance, and to turn around three times before lying down.” – Robert Benchley
“Traveler taught me what it’s like to love a dog. He also showed me the importance of keeping a good stain remover in the pantry.” – Jeff Brown
So, there we were, marooned on the side of the interstate. It was my future wife Vickie, me, Traveler, and Storm. Traveler and Storm were Vickie’s geriatric dogs.
We were driving to Indiana to visit Vickie’s family. It was a trip of many firsts for me. It was my first time meeting her family, it was our first long car trip together, and it was my first real experience with dogs.
Oh, sure, I’ve had pets throughout the years, just no canines. When I was in kindergarten, I kept snails in jars. (Don’t worry, I let them out every once in a while to stretch their feet, err, foot.) When I was older and more responsible, I had a goldfish, various amphibians, and even a lizard once.
It was an evolution of pets.
It took me a long time (elementary school) before I worked my way up to higher mammals. My folks didn’t want animals living in their house, so they got me a rabbit, which lived in a hutch in the back yard. Originality was important to me, even back then, so I promptly named him “Bugs.” Bugs was an awesome rabbit that lived for over ten years. I buried him when I was in my first year of college.
My daughter, who apparently is more original than me, named her kitten “Waterfall” when she was twelve. He was the first animal that lived in the same house as me.
Anyhow, back to the trip. One minute I was driving 70 mph, and the next I was coasting to a stop. The engine quit. Luckily we were near a rest area, so we woke up the old pair of sleeping canines in the back seat, attached their leashes, and started walking.
Now, when I say “we started walking,” I really mean “we meandered around the immediate vicinity of the car for ten minutes while the dogs smelled every blade of grass in a concerned manner.” Needless to say, I was concerned, because I was in a hurry.
Did I mention we were marooned on the side of the interstate?
Both of them were in their mid-teens and didn’t move very fast. Heck, they didn’t seem to get too excited about anything, for that matter, and it took us quite a while to hike to the rest area. I found myself longing for Slimy, my pet snail. (I could have carried his jar in my pocket.)
Everything worked out fine. We got a tow to a nearby town, had our fuel pump replaced, and soon we were back on the road. The dogs couldn’t have been better behaved. They actually slept the whole time in the back seat of our car as the mechanics worked on it.
Vickie and I were married a year later. During the engagement, old age caught up with Storm and she passed on. Traveler was the first dog I’d really get to know. At first, I thought it would be neat to have a dog. I’d be able to play fetch with him and take him for walks. But, he was approximately 105 in human years. He couldn’t see or hear very well anymore.
Yeah, it was hard for me to bond with Traveler.
I’m not proud to say I got angry with him occasionally when he had accidents in the house, but he was so deaf and blind I don’t think he understood what I was so upset about. In the end, I think he just regarded me as the “other human” who occasionally yelled at him for no apparent reason.
Speaking of poop, the number one thing I learned from Traveler is that there are many different kinds of dog poop. There’s happy poop– the kind that emerged when he was all excited when Vickie got home. There’s nervous poop– the kind that drizzled out on his way to the groomer. Then, my least favorite– goodbye poop. It’s the type I found on the morning we were leaving for our vacation last June. The nasty stuff was scattered haphazardly up and down the hallway and required me to get the steam cleaner out at 5:00 AM.
Traveler turned sixteen years old last month. His longevity is a testament to my wife’s love for him. In the end, however, he stopped eating and he could hardly stand up. It was his time.
One beautiful July morning, Vickie carried him outside and both of us sat down in the grass with Traveler. We talked to him; told him he was a good boy. I stroked his head one last time, then a tearful Vickie picked him up and put him in the car. She drove him to the vet by herself.
Traveler was the third dog in her life she had to help over the Rainbow Bridge.
In case you were wondering, there was goodbye poop on his last day. It’s still my least favorite kind, but not for the reasons you’d expect.
It’s the worst because I really hate goodbyes.
To read the Rainbow Bridge poem, follow this link
http://www.petloss.com/rainbowbridge.htm
If you’re interested in adopting an American Eskimo, visit