Day #351 Writing Through COVID-19: My Son and His Dog

 

Nali and Stuart, heading west

My youngest son Stu, 26, headed west four years ago. He's worked temp jobs to support his trout fishing and mountain biking, bear hunting and rock climbing. He moves around a lot to maximize opportunities to bow hunt elk, mule deer, whitetail, pheasant, bear. He writes about his outdoor pursuits at Iowa Slam. (A slam, he's gently explained to his non-hunting mother, is achieved when a hunter bags every hunt-able animal in a particular area).

Stu currently shares a single room in an AirBNB in Utah with his twin while they're working the ski season at Sundance.
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While out west, Stu has holed up in various (shall I say?) holes. He's lived in basements and trailers and, for extended periods of time, in tents and out of his car. 

With him for the past five years has been Nali, a black lab named after Mt. Denali, the highest peak in North America, which hovered above Stu the summer he worked in Alaska as a fishing guide. 
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My son is what my husband and I call "a thinking kid." This label is both an attribute and a burden. Stu thinks hard about his decisions, his actions, and his words, which can be a heavy load. 

He structures his time to prioritize a balance of physical health, mental health, service to others, financial responsibility, and of course hunting. Recently, when he lost a decent-paying job he had (reasonably) enjoyed, he reminded me that his entire identity was not lodged in his job; many aspects of his life were going well.
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I've spent too many paragraphs introducing Stuart because I'm resisting this next part.

One of the things Stuart prioritizes each day is his work with his Nali. She is an amazing hunting dog, trained to serve as Stu's right-hand she-dog on his countless expeditions. More than that, she has been his constant companion during his time out west. 

Recently Nali has been sick. She's been lethargic. Blood in her urine. Seizures. The vets ran tests, prescribed medications.  Stu adjusted her diet. 

I think you know where this is going.

It isn't a kidney infection or a UTI. It isn't the dog version of epilepsy. 

The mass revealed near her spine in ultrasound was biopsied and confirmed to be advanced cancer. 
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Our family has loved many dogs. This means we have also known profound sadness.

These next weeks will be hard for us. 

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison