This guys name was Klondike. He was 14 years old last night. I had to put him down this morning…

On Tuesday I had dinner with my mom and stepdad David. They told me that there plan was to leave on Friday morning ahead of the “hurricane” and go to Atlanta for the weekend. The moment they told me I was irked. David is 74, can barely get around on his own, in terrible health, and realistically, will probably pass on soon. I love him so much. (I’ll save those words for another post). My mom is a tiny lady, in her early 60′s, and tries her hardest to support him. They live in an apartment on the southside. However, they decided to leave for the hurricane. I knew something would happen…

Friday at 9:36pm I get the call from David as follows: “Hey Rob, we are in Tifton headed back to Jacksonville, Klondike can’t get out the van. Can you meet us at the apartment in 3 hours and help us get him out?”

Welp, of course I said yes. Showed up at 12:30am, waited 30 more minutes for them to arrive. Met them right at the rental and looked in the back of the van and saw the poor thing. David did his best to get out without using his electric scooter and I quickly told my mom to stay focused on him while I stayed with Klondike. I saw a case of bottled water and knew he was thirsty. No bowl in the sight and no point to lose dignity. I opened the seal and lifted his head, poured the water on my open palm as he lapped it up.

One bottle, Back to urging my mom to just get David inside and take care of him. Second bottle, same drill, drinking just as fast. My mom is back not wanting to realize what this means. “Can you please just go inside and take care of David?” She just wanted to be blind to it but she went. I pulled out my phone and dialed a 24 hour vet. Talked to some young man named Ethan. Asked him if they could put him down. My mom walks back as I quickly hang up. “Oh, who was that? One of your friends?” I lie. “Yep…”

Klondike lowers his gigantic head (He weighed 150 pounds by the way!) and starts lapping up the spilled water on the floor. Third bottle. Palm. Big old silly, stinky dog tongue! He is still thirsty. Before I reach for the 4th bottle of water I say: “That wasn’t a friend, it was a vet. Mom, this dog wants to die.” she replies in denial saying how he will perk up once he comes inside. I try again to avail as I crack the 4th bottle of water and become more direct. “He is thirsty. He is dying. This is what happens when living things die. They want water. Please.”

“Not tonight, I just can’t deal with this now”

Tonight turned into 10:35am in Mandarin here in Jacksonville.

I am crying now. And it wasn’t until that last sentence.

Sorry, just had to share.