The Board
I hear the fast, fluttering, flip… flip… flip of another row in the departure message board at the 30th Street Train Station in Philadelphia. The row comes to stillness as the row changes titles, along with the two destinations below it. For a brief moment two trains are provided two spots on the board, before the fluttering begins in the consecutive rows as their destinations, times, and stair numbers make the slow steady march toward the top. There sits my train at the bottom, 178… I’ve got well over the 30 minutes before my train but I sit idly as I watch the departure board… when will my train come… it seems like it will never come, yet in the back of my mind I know that it must… that it will… no matter how long the progression of jumping one to three rows every five to ten minutes takes my train to reach the next row, I know that eventually… at some point… my train will be next.
His Train at the Bottom
I remember when my sister first left for Costa Rica and her room was left vacant… just the two of us… you could tell that it wasn’t easy for him. I had a good friend of mine, Cliff, stay over, and I laid out a blanker where her bed used to be. As a dog who had more self-control (emotional and physical) than I, I realized that his subtle gesture of shitting all over every square inch of Cliff’s blanket was a clear message: “I’m not ready for that yet, that’s sacred ground for me… no one can sleep in there yet… it’s too soon.”
Later that year after we moved, we would walk over to Piedmont Park… never on a leash, he would always stay next to me without any need for restraint. I would hold a hand out as I looked around the parked cars for oncoming, “Hold on Max…”, “Ok, let’s cross.” We spent a lot of time at Piedmont Park that year… I still remember the first day I took him to the park because I wanted to “teach him” to catch a frisbee. I should have known he already knew what was I was intending. We crossed into the Park as we always did, and I held the frisbee in my hand and gestured for him to sit about 3 feet in front of me. “Ok Max, I want you to catch this” (he had never been taught to “catch” anything prior). I gave the bee a tiny toss and he condescendingly caught it in his mouth, took three steps forward and dropped it at my feet as if to say, “C’mon bro, I think you’ve got a little bit more than that.” I could tell from the glean in his eye that he got where this was headed. I picked up the frisbee he had laid at my feet, gave a strong crow-hop and flung the bee as far as I could… he opened up into full strides immediately (there have been few dogs in my life that could run like Max) began gaining on the frisbee… he was so fast… when it had about 4 feet left to fall and seemed like at least 30-40 yards away from me, he lept into the air, catching the frisbee in his mouth, and landing gracefully on his feet. Yes, Max was one special dog.
When my sister decided she wanted to take him to Costa Rica with her about a year later, it was the end of an era for me that would end too soon… but it would forge a bond that anyone who has deeply connected with an animal or pet could understand… he would forever hold a place in my heart that could be filled by no other.
The Rows Ahead are Flipping
Nearly ten years later… today, the neurologist at University of Pennsylvania gave some disappointing news. We assumed that the continued loss of function and reflex in his rear legs was due to a herniated disc pressing down on his spine. Because so many other aspects of his health seem to be ok for a thirteen year old dog, if the MRI had reflected our (and the neurologist’s) prior assumptions, he would have been a good candidate for surgery which could stop the erosion of function occurring in his rear legs. He could then live out the remainder of his life pain free and with a good amount of mobility. However, with the MRI revealing nothing (as well as the blood test and ultrasound) we are left with more questions than answers, only knowing that putting him under anesthesia repeatedly clearly isn’t in his best interest. What’s more, if it did turn out to be a malignant tumor in other parts of his body there’s not a whole lot to be done, and it doesn’t feel right to put him through that at this point in his life.
I carried him to my sister’s car today, tears streaming down my face as his tongue lolled out of his mouth from the continued effects of the anesthesia. I don’t know when his time will be up, and that’s a decision that he and / or my amazing sister need to make (I will of course dutifully be by their side at a beckoned call whenever they need me in any capacity)… but today seemed like I hadn’t looked at the departure board for quite a while, and I was suddenly awoken from my haze by the fluttering sound of his train moving closer to the top. Even with two dogs of my own now I say without hesitation that Max was the most incredible dog I’ve ever had the opportunity of caring for and loving… and it’s an honor to wait by his side until his train finally arrives.