Rusty Roo

On February 9th 2013 my friends on the east coast suffered a fierce winter storm. One source says 650,000 people were without power. Businesses that by their nature can not close exhausted their back-up power, and since winds remained high  restoration couldn't even begin for what must have seemed forever.

It's not hard for me to imagine. I was there in 2003. Snowfall broke records that year. I saw Boston, Dorchester, Quincy, and Worcester, Ma grind to a halt. Cars were lost beneath and behind walls of snow. To free their vehicles, people mountain-climbed and dug down to their car roofs. Fresh from Texas, it was a surreal experience for me and my Pekingese friend, Rusty.

Throughout the night I assessed the situation from various windows and angles. Snow plows barely visible in the blizzard, never stopped and never made any real headway either. Rusty watched me while I watched them, and his gaze grew ever more serious. I finally cut a sleeve from an old sweater, made two leg holes, and dressed for the inevitable.  As non-nonchalantly as possible I opened the apartment door. We were greeted by a free-standing wall of snow. I had to shovel just to reach the building's exterior door.
Eventually we stood on what had been the porch, now merely an extension of the white landscape. The steps were altogether hidden somewhere beneath the immense drift, and navigating to level snow was challenging.  Rusty slowly wagged as if embarrassed at the need for all the effort.

While that first outdoor necessity may have been confusing and embarrassing, it wasn't long until he was frolicking in deep snow. In the interest of avoiding freezing to death, we quickly dispensed with his sweater. He didn't need it, and I needed him to eventually want to come inside.

Tonia took him to a fenced playground one day. With leash removed, Rusty immediately raced the circumference in a series of leaps and disappearances through the drifts. It's a memory that sticks with me.  He had ping-pong ball sized icicles clinging everywhere by the time he was spent. His was one of the most joyous displays I have ever witnessed anywhere; and from a dog who had been grieving himself to death  a few years earlier.

I first heard about him in the hospital where I worked in Texas. That particular evening I was not in Intensive Care. I was filling the role of Nursing Supervisor and making rounds on every unit, and I overheard a woman preparing for discharge talking with her husband.

"If he still isn't even eating well, he is never going to get over losing her. I just can't stand watching him grieve any more.Tomorrow you take him to the vet, and have him put down."

I excused myself for interrupting and learned more. Rusty had belonged to the patient's sister, who died from complications of sickle cell weeks ago. He was a four year old Pekingese, well loved by all, who could not, by any account, adjust to life without his best friend. He had spent days with various family members, and now his last option was exhausted. I offered to take him.

"I don't know," The woman hesitated, ill herself with the hereditary ailment. "he is suffering. I don't want him to suffer."

I told them how I had recently lost Tory, my best friend Peke, to old age. I promised to send reports and gave them my phone number. In the end, I met Rusty after work and took him home.

They hadn't been lying. Rusty was a bit thin, and his thick red-gold fur was tangle free, but without luster. His tail drooped. He mostly kept his head down. He showed little interest in anyone around him. I offered him several types of food that night to no avail. My own. Spike the doberman's dry food. A can of  nutrition packed, appetite stimulating enticement left over from Tory's last days. Even cat food, which every dog I ever knew loves to steal. It truly was heart breaking. He was polite. He never turned away. He even wagged slowly as if to say it wasn't that he didn't appreciate my concern.

The degree of empathy that animals show is no secret to those who have been loved by them. Even so I was touched by the rest of my furry family that night. Feline friends Dinky, and Pal gave up my lap so that Rusty could be rocked in the recliner till morning. Officer Scruff who ruled everyone in the household, curled and purred at my feet. Spike who had not once attempted to nose in on the offered treats  lay on the floor nearby, braving Scruffy's wrath to lend support. When he got up to drink he glanced in Rusty's direction briefly; I'm sure he was demonstrating the location of the water bowl. I thanked him and stroked Rusty until we all fell asleep there.

I know you miss her,fella. She loves you too. She's not sick anymore. You will see her again. I truly believe that. Would you give it a try here for awhile? Shes's welcome to come visit. That sometimes happens you know. 

The next morning, still dressed in scrubs Rusty and I followed Spike out and took a tour of the immediate area. Past the fallow deer we were joined by guineas and ducks, and Charmin the pygmy goat. All the horses pointed ears at him when we walked to the fence line to say hello. Going back inside I thought his step seemed lighter. Although his tail remained down, he drank water, and proceeded to graciously thank everyone for their friendliness. He both allowed and gave brief sniffs indiscriminately. To my delight he also  curled his tail up over his back, and when a bit later I caught him at the food bowl I celebrated

I can't do Rusty justice with my writing. Trying to capture him for you within a few brief stories is simply impossible. He was heroically brave, and marvelously gentle, and one of the finest souls that ever honored me with friendship. He adored Tonia, and I will be forever grateful for all wonderful times the three of us; and sometimes the two of them shared. On rare occasions Rusty had a special visitor. I'd respect their privacy, and afterward he'd come and thank me, and tell me he loved me too.

In the end, she came for him. I like to think she rocked him for awhile.