Anchor Struck

It’s mid-morning on the farm.  Plenty of birds are singing but I think it’s just to

keep their spirits and body temperature up.  It’s a cold, dreary day with a drizzle

that has the resolve of a sleazy, all-day affair.  The wind and rain ripped right

through me when I went out to split some firewood I shouldn’t have to this far

into spring.

This day must have escaped from February.

I’m normally of great good will in mid-April, reflecting the baseless optimism of

the newly-minted sun.  Today I can’t do that and the reason is at my feet: Roameo,

our 14-year-old pit bull/golden Lab.  He has forsaken his normal spot in front of the

woodstove to be close to me in the coldest room in the house.  Here he is:

He has a fine profile, yes?  He came into Jude’s

life when he showed up in the barn of her friend

Nicholas.  Nicholas thinks Roameo escaped from

a dog fighting ring near his house.  He had cuts on

his head and chest when he showed up, but would

not let Nicholas approach him for a long time.

Jude’s Rottweiler mix Robin taught Roameo how

to be a dog.  Jude harnessed them together.  Robin

pulled him most everywhere Jude went.  This helped him learn how to ride in cars

and be in public.  It also reduced his time in his safe spot, a large dog carrier covered

with blankets.

At first he would whine for attention and Robin would oblige and play.  When she’d

had enough of that, he started growling to get her to play.  This became a lifelong

habit that many guests have misinterpreted.  When a pit bull you don’t know is

growling at you, you’re not likely to pet him.

I met Roameo in his prime.  Jude and I would walk him and Robin on leashes to a

creek near Jude’s house, then let them run free along the access road.  Roameo

would stay close to me as traffic whizzed by, but once we got to the creek, he would

pull full-force on the leash until we cleared the first bend and saw that no one else

was around.  It took all the strength I had to keep him controlled.

But now his power is gone.  Every day his legs grow weaker.  Yesterday I found him

halfway up the front porch steps, unable to go up or down but too proud to bark for

help. The time is near for Jude and me to make that heart-breaking decision.  It was

easy when Robin’s time came.  After increasingly frequent falls, she collapsed one

night and looked at us as if to say “You’ve got to help me out here!”

A few days later we took Robin to a beach she loved for the last time.  We carried

her down on a blanket.  When we got to the vet’s office, which she hated, she went

straight to the first exam room past the reception desk.  Roameo waited in the van.

For several weeks after, he would wander from room to room looking for her.

A week or so ago, we thought maybe his moment had come.  He had trouble holding

his head up and just wanted to sleep.  Jude spent the night next to him by the wood

stove.  But he toughed it out like the trooper he is.  I hope he’ll let us know when it’s

time.