The era is 1950 to
1961. I’m “being raised” on a farm in Michigan and one of the things I hated
most about farm life was being poor. We ate good because we had animals and a
garden, but cash money? Not much. This was a culture where a seventeen-year-old
boy might get a new tractor for a graduation gift, but never a new car.
One of the things I
remember is how shabbily farm people treated dogs and cats. They were never
allowed in the house. They were fed table scraps and a minimal amount of
dog/cat food. They were expected to catch mice and rats. And woe to the dog who
had the audacity to kill a chicken. He’d be taken behind the barn and shot.
Buried back there, too. I actually saw farm people drown unwanted puppies in a
bucket and throw them in a hole and bury them. I left for the U. S. Air Force
in 1961 and never went back.
Fast forward to
1965. I’m married to one of the nicest, kindest people I’ve ever known. Our
dogs and cats are like children. They are treated humanely and cared for with
the best interests of the animal always in mind.
Fast forward again.
It’s now 2023. Many dogs and cats have come and gone and I am once again faced
with the toughest thing a pet owner can have to do. I have had Molly, a black
miniature Schnauzer, for a little over fifteen years. Molly has cancer. Big,
fat, aggressive carcinoma on her spleen and bleeding into her belly. We are at
the vet’s, looking at the x-rays and trying to solve this dilemma. Grasping at
straws, really. Wanting to hear some good news, any good news, but it is not to
be had.
The Dr. says he can
do surgery, a splenectomy, remove the spleen and the tumor. As soon as she’s
strong enough, start her on chemotherapy. What’s the prognosis? Maybe 180 days,
270 days, at the outside. And what about her quality of life?
“Well,” he says,
“you have to understand that dogs are quite good at hiding their illness. She
won’t let you see that she’s in pain, if she can help it. It’s a survival
instinct that goes all the way back to when dogs were all wolves. If the pack
saw weakness or illness they would take down the weak and sick.”
“So she’s in
pain
right now?” I asked.
“I would imagine
so,” he said. “And when she’s in chemo, she’ll have a life of vet visits and
needles and she’ll feel miserable most of the time. There will be a few good
days, but not that many.”
So I dropped the big
question. “If she were your dog, what would you do?”
He sighed and said,
“I’d put her down. Hardest thing for you guys. Best thing for Molly.”
So, on June 6th,
(D-Day, if it makes any difference) Donna and I held Molly and said goodbye.
And she knew something was going on. Knew it wasn’t good because her peeps were
crying like little kids. Then the vet gave her propofol and it was like, ‘oh,
thank God, I can take a nap’ and she curled up and dropped off, pain free at
last. Then the other shot. The one that stopped her loving, valiant heart and his stethoscope
on her chest. “She’s gone,” he said. But no, she’s never gone. Not from our
hearts and our memories. Rest now, Molly. We’ll see you soon.
So, that's the low point for my summer, hopefully and I
just wanted to share that. Hope you didn't find it too upsetting. Now to the magazine. This is the 26th Anniversary issue
and our Featured Writer this month is Paul Radcliffe, Paul is an Emergency RN and for that alone he has my admiration. I worked
in a major trauma center in Wichita for 23 years and saw firsthand every day what folks like Paul are able to do. The ER Docs
may call the shots, but people like Paul keep many a doctor from screwing up and they are the hands-on people who make things
come out right.
Michael Stoll is
back with Crawling Flesh and Roy Dorman with Stop the World, both damned fine writing. Some new people are
here, getting their dose of Black Petals, Eric Burbridge, Spencer Jepman and Albert N. Katz making their first appearances
in our hallowed pages. Liam Spinage and Ronin Fox are also new, giving us flash pieces so we can see what they're about.
I think as you read
this issue through, you'll see why we had to close to submissions for a while. The good stuff was coming in at such a rate,
I was just getting buried. We'll reopen on September first and start reading for January 2024.
Thanks for listening to my ramblings. I'll let you get to it.
