Reassuring hearts is what comes first

Autocorrect a gift this time

He’s gone,” I typed on my cellphone in a text to my aunt. I could barely see through the tears as I sat in the truck.

Thanksgiving was rough on my beloved Baxter. The traveling, socializing and eating too much can take a toll on the fittest among us, much less a 16-year-old blind dog. He’d been slowing down more of late, and I knew our time was running short. Still, what is expected in our heads remains unexpected in our hearts.

And naturally, bad things don’t happen at noon. They happen at 2 a.m. and on holidays, when businesses are closed and folks are not taking calls. We snuggled with Bax, made him as comfortable as possible and vowed to see the vet when he opened.

As I held my precious friend on my chest, my breath and his aligned in its usual cadence.

He entered my world when I was 33 years old and now, being weeks shy of turning 50, I would struggle to recall a memory, photograph or event he wasn’t part of in all those years.

Having not had children, he was the closest thing to a child I’d ever known. He’d been by my side through divorce, remarriage, moving, house building, vacations, the death of my mother and 30,000 miles of road trips across the U.S.

Whether I was at rock bottom or walking in high cotton, I could always count on my Baxter to meet me at the door with the exuberance no human can match.

Monday morning, the veterinarian’s office called and said the vet was sick. They gave us a sedative and said to bring him in the first thing the next morning. I held him another day. That evening, the vet’s office called again and apologized, saying the vet was still very sick and may be out all week.

We didn’t want to try another vet, but decided we must. The next morning, we arrived before the doors opened. After an hour of dogs barking and people laughing, a man comes in and loudly announces he would give two shots — one to calm and one into his heart. I clarified, he meant in the vein to stop his heart, right? He said no, he stabs the chest and goes right in the heart. “Quicker that way,” he says.

Trapper John and I walked out with Bax. We drove 45 mins to another town (figures, he squeezed in one last road trip!), waited 1 ½ hours, and cradled my best friend to his final breath.

Empty-handed and brokenhearted, Trapper and I cried in the truck. I got my phone and typed “He’s gone” to my aunt, except it didn’t type that. I wipe my eyes to see it autocorrected to…

“He’s fine.”

We smiled through tears at the ‘God nod’ reassuring our hearts that our sweet boy could see again and was more alive than ever.

Meet me at the gates when I get there, love.

Baxter