The call came from the veterinarian at 8:45am. During the wee hours this morning, Dipstick passed away.
Tough as he was, resilient as he’d proven himself to be so many times over his eventful years, his little body wasn’t able to withstand the sudden, vicious onslaught of pancreatitis. We got him in to be treated quickly, and he received the best possible care.
It wasn’t enough. We’re devastated.
I guess I should be consoled that he didn’t suffer long, and indeed to some extent I am. Maybe I’m supposed to draw on the perspective of being the son of a veterinarian, having seen death firsthand so many times. I should remember Dipstick as a road warrior on our cross-country adventures, and that he made it with us to The Mountain. I’m sure you understand that none of that helps right now.
I’ve lost my little buddy. Deb’s without her sweet, sweet boy. Scout, who greeted Dipstick’s arrival eight years ago and now must deal with him leaving, no longer has him to defend her from Smudge. The rambunctious Heeler herself has gone quiet, clearly aware of the now-empty spot on the back of the couch.
And we’re all missing our sentinel, the scruffy watchman who always could be found at the window, resting on his elbows like a little person, constantly scanning for anything that threatened his family.
He never let us down. We always did the best we could for him. Soon he’ll rest forever on The Mountain.
‘Night, Dipstick. Love you, little buddy.
