I remember turning and seeing Red in the pouring rain and cold, he was only a few feet away from me, the sheep were staring at him confused, he looked wild-eyed and frightened, a look I had never seen before. He had a pleading looking and was turning to me, seeking help, I saw he was pulling himself on his front paws, trying desperately to get to me. I was disbelieving, confused, I stepped back to let the sheep pass and run by. I couldn’t understand why Red hadn’t stopped them. Maria yelled out in the wind that something was wrong with him. I called to him, but I saw his rear legs dangling behind him, he was covered in mud, it was raining hard. Red looked desperate, confused. He could not understand what was happening to him. Neither could I.   I was slow to process what I was seeing. Red was very frightened, I could see it in his eyes. He crawled to me in this horrifying way, clearly in great pain,  for about 20 feet, I knew he would never stop until he reached me. I was frightened and shocked. I called and called, hoping he would simply stand up, and be Red, until I couldn’t stand to see it any longer. It was so hard for him to move in this way. We went into the house and got a towel, and we put the towel under his rear legs and I picked them off the ground, lifting his legs,  and Maria picked Red up by the chest and we carried him into the house, he was covered in mud and manure. 

___

Dr. Fariello and I made a big decision today on Red’s behalf, and I suppose, for the sheep and dogs and all for of us on the farm.  And for the many people who love him.

His running and herding days are over, certainly for the foreseeable future and most probably for good.

Hundreds, if not thousands, of people have come to our farm to watch Red work with the sheep. They were always amazed by him. He was so much in command, so sure, so responsive, so focused.  That will not be happening again, and he and will no go out in the morning and take the sheep out back to graze.

We will not be getting another herding dog to replace him, there are other ways to move sheep around.

It is definitely the end of something, also the beginning of something else.

“So tell me directly,” I asked Dr. Fariello, “do you think he should ever run again?”

She shook her said, and said, “frankly, no, I don’t think so. I would say no.”

Suzanne and I have a close working relationship, we have been through a lot of dog crises, and I trust her, we speak plainly to one another. “Tell me,” she said tonight, as I stood in the examining room. “Are you okay if this is as good as Red gets, and he never works the sheep again?”

I understood what she was asking.

Yes, I said, I was okay, as long as he never had to crawl through the mud like that again. As long as he could have a life and not be in great pain or suffering.

Red looks good, he is comfortable, at peace, at home, with me, and Maria, on the farm. There was no reason at all, she said, that he could not continue in his therapy work for years.

Dr. Fariello said there should be little or no pain, although with a dog like Red you could never be 100 per cent sure.

I was wrong about this, I should say. I thought Red would bounce back, I was sure of it.  I didn’t think this would happen now.

Red has been through many back injuries and other crises in his work life, he always came through  them and went back to work. But time is not interested in my opinions, it has its own narrative.

I think I had come to see Red as larger-than-life, as invincible. He came back from being stomped by a horse, he came back from four kinds of tick-borne diseases, he came back from being savagely attacked by a dog who nearly ripped his eye out, he worked through arthritis and cataracts.

Nothing seemed to stop him.

Pain never seemed to stop Red or slow him down.  Dr. Fariello was always able to bring him back.  I guess I didn’t want to really believe this news, Red is such a spectacular herding dog, he is so well-trained, he is such a joy to watch.

And I love him so much.

I wasn’t ready for it.

Red’s work was his destiny, it is what he was meant to do. It was a miracle when Dr. Karen Thompson gave him to me. I promised her I would give him a good life, bring him to therapy work, let him work the sheep every day. I kept those promises, and I thank her once again for trusting me with him.

But I believe in accepting reality, and respecting life. With a spinal fracture, there is always the chance running can re-injure Red, and I would not ever willingly subject him to that kind of pain or desperation again. I wouldn’t want to see it again, either.

One day his spine might just give out, but not today, not yet.

And this is not retirement for Red.

He has a lot of work to do, and therapy work is meaningful and important to him, he is very good at it. The news could have been much worse for Red, he is otherwise healthy and can live a long time, which is the most important thing.

And this is not death for Red, which is a great thing. The recovery began tonight, his first of four acupuncture treatments. Rest and recovery.

It is definitely the end of an era, an important chapter in both of our lives. There are things I can’t do now either, including running,  and I accept that. Why should it be different for Red? We can accept our lives together and appreciate more years together.

We can do the next chapter together. There is a symmetry to that. We can keep each other company, as we have been doing for years. He is a spirit dog.

And the Mansion residents will be thrilled to know Red can continue his therapy work, they have been reading the blog and are worried about him. So have hundreds of people.

When I went to pay the vet bill tonight, Amy, the evening receptionist, said it was $8.50. “What?,” I said, incredulous, “there must be some mistake.” No, she said, there wasn’t any mistake. “One of your blog readers paid the bill.”

No, no, I said, that isn’t right. I can pay the bill.I sputtered and complained.  I don’t want other people paying my bills, they have bills to.  I can afford to pay Red’s vet bills. Please don’t accept any other money from people, I said. I asked if I could return the money, or pay anyway, or talk to the person who paid the bill.

No, she said, the person wanted to be anonymous, the bill is paid, be gracious about it. She laughed. She wanted to do something for Red, she said.

So I decided to do that, to be gracious, and  say thanks. She or he didn’t have to do that, I would ask that nobody else  do it either.

“People really love Red,” she said. “That is in real honor of him.”

When we got outside, Red couldn’t jump up into the car by himself, I could tell jumping up was painful for him. I picked up his front paws and lifted them onto the seat. I picked up his hind legs and brought them up into the car.

When we got home, Red went into the living room to lie down. I went online and I bought a Pet Stamp Original Folding Ramp for $119. It had a rubberized walking surface and was steady and portable and could  accommodate dogs much bigger than Red. I read all of the reviews, it usually took two or three attempts before the dog got used to it.

I can fold it up and put in the back of the car when we go to the Mansion, or the dentist, or the bookstore.

This ramp is coming in two days, it’s the sort of thing I never imagined I would buy or own. Red won’t like it, it will take some work to get him used to it. He doesn’t like any stairs.

But that’s the gift of challenge and disappointment, grace is impossible in a life without challenge, only when there is trouble.  Challenge makes us better. Pain is unavoidable, suffering is a choice.

Life happens to all of us there is no hiding or running from it. It even happens to Red.

I’m grateful to have more time with him.