Hopeless, Helpless, Hapless part 2

So this fantasy I'd had about getting a couple hundred extra bucks if we made Max a ghost was now coming true. I called the vet and the dog owner's ex-wife, who might not have fought too hard to retain custody of Max after the divorce. ("Let's see, I'll take the house, the cars, all the furniture - oh, but you get Max.")

The ex-wife and Vet agreed on the phone that Max's time had come. . .about a decade ago, but putting her down now was the best we could do at this point.

I've heard that dying dogs can bite you if you try to pick them up, so in the 95 degree heat I put on my huge, thick ski parka and huge, thick ski racing gloves which didn't surprise my neighbors as I'm a little odd.

I picked Max up and put her in our equally dying 1989 Toyota Camry. Patti uses this car to deliver the mail which is so hard on the car that backing out of the driveway with the hole in the muffler (I think there's more hole than muffler at this point) it sounded like a renegade Harley. Then I put it in low (the transmission is so shot we have to drive it like a stick shift) and turned the wheels and it made the clackity-clack sound of a group of cars climbing the initial hill of an ancient roller coaster. (You think I'm joking, but I'll record this sound on an upcoming podcast and you'll see that I'm not.)

We got to the biggest hill on our route and now it was a real contest to see who was going to die first. The 1989 Toyota Camry clackety-clacked to a crawl and I thought this was it. The 1989 (coincidentally) Basset Hound had her eyes clouding over and any second her eyes seemed ready to turn to Xs.

Cars whizzed past like we were standing still, maybe because we almost were. A 10-year-old on a 1968 Stingray bike passed us, then a nanny pushing a toddler in a stroller. Then an octagenarian using a walker passed us.

What would I do if the Camry died on this hill? Carry Max to the vet? Drag her by her leash and collar? I could hear the vet saying, "Well, Max is still alive, but she has no fur on one side of her body."

Miraculously the Camry and Max both made it to the top of the hill alive, but the ex-wife had said that she wanted Max's ashes, so I looked at Max and realized that while I was going out with a dog looking at me, I'd be coming back with the contents of a large ashtray.

When I carried Max into the Vet's the receptionist agreed that we were looking at a soon-to-be-deceased dog, and she guided me to an empty room where I sat on the floor with Max. They had some stuffed animals there and I put on a little spontaneous puppet show for Max, who looked at me as if to say, "Okay, at least I'm not the only one dying here."

We had a brief metaphysical conversation and I told Max how much I loved her, how much Molly loved her (and who she'd no doubt be seeing soon in dog heaven - that's the way old couples are), how much her owner loved her, how much her owner's wife and ex-wife - well, we just stopped there and looked at each other.

Max is a bright dog, and while I've made some jokes here, this is not a joke: I swear that when the Vet came in to give Max her last rites before putting her to sleep, Max jumped up and started walking around the room in a spirited way, wagging her tail.

This is like hearing a rattle, taking your car to the mechanic and then not hearing the rattle once you get there.

The veterinarian, Dr. Glenn, was wonderful and she fed Max some doggie-aspirin to lessen her pain, and Max came home with me and she's lying right here at my feet now in the fetal position like a puppy in the womb, which I think she will be shortly, but not now.

She wants to see and say good-bye to her beloved owner before she goes.

And she wants to teach me to be patient and caring about every living thing.

She and I might be hopeless, helpless and hapless, but no one is worthless.