ElderChicks

Willie was his name, but in later years our grown children called him “Bill” and then in the last days “Old Bill” and finally “Poor Old Bill.”

But, his name was probably the only thing that changed over all those years, because Willy was always there.  At the door when the bell rang, 12 pounds of fur and bones that barked like 20. Each greeting of excitement made everyone feel important.

He guarded both home and yard, chasing every squirrel and bird that dared to cross his path without permission. When driving on summer trips to the sea shore, his alert nose would sense the salt air at almost the same mile post on the Atlantic City Expressway, and he would cry out with excitement. It became a betting game with us to see who would guess first at what point Willy would send out the alert.

He was so much a part of our everyday life, that at times, we neglected him. A water bowl left empty because we were too busy with our own lives, going to practice or coming home late. But he never complained and greeted us with love. Threats of “if no one will take care of him”, he’ll have to go, fell on deaf ears. We all knew he would always be there for us and one of us would take care of him. Sometimes on family trips we would get a few miles from home and have to go back because we forgot him. He never complained or seemed to mind.

Kennedy became Johnson and Johnson, became Nixon and Nixon, Ford. Ford changed to Carter and Carter became Reagan. Aunts and uncles left us- even Grandparents, but “Bill” was there to greet and console.  Grade 6 became 12 and 12 became college. Phone calls from East and West ended with “How’s Willy?” As homecomings because rarer, greetings at the door became longer. Returning flock would get down on hands and knees to pet and fondle Willy to renew remembrances.

No one remembers exactly when, but doorbells went unnoticed. Trespassing squirrels flaunted their presence, but “Willy” didn’t seem to notice anymore. A cloud covered his eyes and silence took possession of his ears. Suddenly our puppy was an old man trapped in darkness and quiet. He now spent his days sleeping in his favorite sunbeam. Trips to the vet became more frequent and infections more serious. Steps became mountains and gentle petting seemed like shock waves as outside sights and noises were no longer part of his senses. His bark became loud, raspy and without meaning.

Finally, one morning “Willy” would not respond, he seemed in pain, food remained in his bowl, untouched. His raspy bark stopped and his tail seemed to disappear. In panic we wrapped him a blanket and rushed to the veterinarian.  The young efficient nurse explained that the doctor worked by appointments only. In equally strong terms it was explained to her that pain does not arrive on a schedule.

Willy offered no protest as I placed him on the large, cold examination table. However, this little twisted ball of fur seemed to humble all around him. The cold table became his throne. Even the efficient nurse seemed a bit in awe of him as she gently took his temperature and checked his lifeless ears. The vet’s hands found a skill they never had before as he saw the hopelessness of his task. His science would not help us here and he had to rely on more humane “nomenclature.”