Schoolblazing: Days #208-209 Writing Through COVID-19: Remembering Vern

My dad sent an email to Adrienne and me after our Saturday visit:

Dear Daughters,
I want you to know what a wonderful present you gave us yesterday afternoon. After you two girls left yesterday, your mother told me that she had been feeling unhappy, lost and angry all forenoon due to her Alzheimer’s problems. However, she said that she had had a wonderful time all afternoon laughing and joking with you two girls. She told me three times last evening how happy she had been laughing and remembering with you two girls about your time growing up.
--------------------------

Our time together on Saturday felt like the best of times from last spring and summer. We built off each other's stories, even if we hadn't remembered the details ourselves.

My parents can no longer create joyful repartee alone. It takes a bit of oil between their rusted gears to get memories and laughter moving. Saturday was a gift for all of us, but it's not enough. My parents' hours are filled with too much monotony and isolation. I must find time in my days to call, and time in my weeks to visit.
-------------------------

On Saturday Vern was limping. My parents wondered aloud if his toenails were bothering him. Adrienne said they had a Monday vet appointment scheduled and would check the limp then.

I petted Vern a little, I think. I wasn't paying attention because I didn't know it would be my last time with him.

I do remember asking my mom if they were still serving him half an egg with his dinner. She explained (again) that Vern was eating soft food now because of his sore teeth. And yes, he liked his egg.

When our visit concluded and we moved the picnic fixings back to the apartment, Vern wrapped his leash around my dad's legs, adding peril to our already unbalanced effort.

Before leaving, I took a photo but did not assure that Vern's face was visible. The picture shows my smiling parents, but Vern is ducked behind them.
------------------------

I'm remembering these small details tonight because this morning, prior to the vet visit, Dad called Adrienne and said they'd decided to put Vern down.
----------------------

My parents had broached this idea when they were living with me this summer. In fact, one morning when I came down with breakfast, my mom's journal was open beside her as she scanned the dictionary. She said she was looking up how to spell "die." She'd been writing about Vern.

I tried to assure my parents that Vern was not in pain. He seemed genuinely joyful when I came downstairs with the food tray. (He'd learned I'd slip him a bite of pork chop or a bit of bacon. He'd also learned how to open the small refrigerator door. Who says old dogs can't learn new tricks?)
-------------------------

But when I called Adrienne this afternoon, she told me how when she'd taken our parents and Vern to the vet, he'd agreed, given the dear old dog's increased discomfort and incontinence, it was time to put him down.

As the vet tried to lift Vern up on the table, the dog yelped in pain and had to be muzzled. My parents and sister petted the good boy as the vet shaved Vern's leg and found a vein. They all cried silently as Vern grew weak, sat down, and lay still.

"Do you want to pet him?" my dad asked my mom after the vet had left the room to give my family some privacy.

"No," she said. "I petted him when he was alive."
-------------------------

One of the things my dad said today that provides a little comfort is that he'd looked up various dog breeds' length of life. Few dogs live as long as Vern did: 16 years.

When I told my son Harrison tonight that Vern was gone, he shared a story my mom had told him: Uncle Stafford (my brother) owned Vern during his puppy years. He thought my parents should have a dog and offered them his much-loved pet. My dad wanted the dog, but my mom resisted. At last, she agreed that Dad could have Vern if he agreed to give a dollar to charity for each dollar spent on the dog.

My dad agreed. Vern moved in with his new people. He promptly chewed up a seatbelt that cost $300 to replace. Heifer Project appreciated the donation.

-------------------------

My parents gave Vern's uneaten food to the animal shelter. They told Adrienne I might want Vern's cage. Given my children's proclivity for adopting dogs, I will take them up on the offer.
-------------------------

When they had said their goodbyes, the three turned to leave.

Then my mother went back and petted Vern's head.

Enough.
Be well.
Pet your dog.
Write.

Allison