I went on Instagram this morning and discovered a post from Grace (@alightinglightly), the wonderful artist who painted a watercolor of our Scout.
I gasped.
This is our first baby, Winston. I don’t have many photos of him on the blog because he died not long after we moved from San Diego – a year or two – and I didn’t have a digital camera. In fact, this photo was taken in our home in San Diego. Winston had a big ball that he carried from room to room. I have several photos of him holding it in his mouth. It was his favorite thing. At the time I took this picture, he had jumped up on the sofa (the same one we now have in the den). His front legs were on a big throw pillow and he was holding his beloved ball.
When we moved into our rental house in San Diego, we knew we wanted to get a dog. Once Don fixed a gap in the fence, we went to the San Diego Humane Society. Winston was the first dog we saw. He was 18 months old and was trembling in his cage. His owners gave him up because of ‘allergies.’ I can only imagine how bewildered he was and how frightened. We kept going and looked at lots of other dogs, but we kept going back to Winston. We couldn’t bear the fact that he was so scared. So we asked if we could have some time with him. We talked to him and petted him and played with him. Meanwhile, I put my handbag on the ground. Shortly thereafter, I saw Winston lift his leg and pee into my bag. I was stunned at first, and then I started laughing.
I quickly realized he was marking us. We made arrangements to adopt him. Before we could take him home, he would have to have a couple of shots and a fecal sample sent to the lab. We waited two days. According the the SDHS, he wouldn’t poop. We were so anxious to get him home with us that we said we’d take him home sans fecal sample. After we picked him up and parked the car in the garage, we brought him into our back yard. He promptly pooped.
See? He was marking us and our yard. He was home.
We loved him like crazy. He loved to run. We took him to the dog park and to Dog Beach. He loved the water. He was affectionate and sweet. He was so dear.
Eventually, after a few years, we realized he needed a pal and we adopted Scout. When it came time to move East, I drove our CR-V across the country with the dogs riding shotgun. The first night in our rental cottage, we took the dogs outside and let them off leash. They ran and ran while the light from fireflies flickered throughout the yard. It was magical.
A couple of years later, Winston jumped off the sofa and cried out in pain. His tail went down and stayed down. We took him to the Vet, where it was discovered that he had a tumor on his heart. The outlook was dire. They could keep him alive for maybe six months if they drained the fluid periodically. We were all set to do that because we weren’t ready to say goodbye. But he quickly declined over the weekend. We took turns sleeping downstairs with him. As soon as we could get him into the vets that Monday, we did. They had him on the highest dose of painkillers and he was still in pain. We knew it was time to say goodbye. All this happened over about 5 days.
He was only 8 years old.
On the day we said goodbye to him, we came back home to Scout. She was lying on the floor by the sofa. She didn’t get up. She just looked at us with her wise and sad eyes.
She knew.
All these years later, I cry when I write this remembrance. He was our first baby and he was taken from us much too soon.
Shanna did a portrait of Winston with his ball, also. A different photo, a different position. I also have a photo of him somewhere, standing on our porch, ball in his mouth. He loved Scoutie. She loved him.
Thank you, Grace. Our hearts are full this morning.
Happy Wednesday.
