Cal

Two weeks ago I was standing in my backyard a little after midnight gazing up at the sky.

The air was crisp. The sky was clear. I was struck by the beauty of the stars shining brightly above me. It was a moment to capture and to share. I ran into the house to get Ed, who came outside to marvel at the beauty of it all with me - or rather, with us.

It was because of our Saint Bernard, Cal, that we were out there in the first place. Cal's vision was failing and he needed support doing his outside business, so one of us was always there with him. And in return for our help, he gave us the gift of this spectacular expanse of sky.

Cal brought me moments like this quite often. During the "summer of my dissertation" when I spent months sweating in front of my computer, sometimes the only time I left the house was to take him out for a walk on the towpath.

Cal smiling for the camera during his walk on the Delaware and Raritan Canal towpath

Although it was a break I would never have taken on my own, I always ended up appreciating the opportunity to stroll in nature with my sweet, sweet puppy. Sometimes my great nephew Easton would join us and we'd throw sticks into the canal or blow bubbles and watch them drift until they suddenly popped. All the while Cal sniffed the air or dug at the ground with his paw.

They were moments I'd try to hold onto, but it's impossible to make anything last forever. So, I did the next best thing. I etched them in my memory. Even though happy memories can bring sadness when they come with an aching heart.

Yesterday, Cal took his final walk.

He woke me up at 4 in the morning. In his old age (approx. 10) he often woofed me awake at odd hours, so it was not unusual. Although a few hours later he was at it again and that was unusual. I arrived at the top of the stairs to see him standing in the foyer looking back at me. I noted to myself how adorable he looked with his ears flopping like a stuffed animal. We went out and he tried to cough something up, but was unproductive. As I held him up I noticed he felt very large. His stomach distended in a way I never felt before. There was a light dusting of snow covering the ground and he plopped into it. I couldn't get him to stand up again.

What was this about?

Ed said it might be bloat because Saint Bernards are susceptible to it. We googled symptoms - they matched - and then this terrifying line, "If you think your dog has bloat, get him to a clinic right away. If dogs don't get treatment in time, the condition can kill them." 

We immediately loaded Cal into my mini cooper (big dog, little car) and sped off. Long story short, it was bloat. His body was shutting down and he was already in shock by the time they took an x-ray. Decisions had to be made and the compassionate choice (according to the vet) given his age and quality of life was to let him go.

Ugh! We were there when it happened. Surprisingly fast. Emotionally devastating. We held him and kissed him and made sure he felt our presence. Although, in his physical state, who knows.

He was with us for 7 years and 3 days.

The gentle Calligator sharing a blanket with Easton

I hope to come to a place where I can move past this pain and remember him resting his paw on my leg while he snored. In those moments - and there were many - our world was at peace and we were surrounded by love. It's perhaps better to have loved and lost then to never have loved at all, but the pain of loss is almost unbearable.

We love you Cal. I'm sorry I couldn't keep you safe.