I recently wrote about how I tried to get Finn into the truck and how miserably it failed. I kept thinking about ways to accomplish this and hit on something. At home I could back down the drive and as the driveway slopes and there’s a retaining wall, I could put Finn’s ramp there and so it would be a flat surface to walk across to the truck.
Genius. Right? Sorta.
I was able to get him the truck with a lot of coaxing. It’s so odd how he gets excited and as soon as it’s time to get in the truck, he panics. Trauma is a bear to deal with, even for dogs.
So I drive over to my friends family’s property on the river and meet up with my buddy Adam. He got camp setup for himself and we were going to run up river and fish back. As we went to get Finn from the truck, he slipped and skidded down the ramp’s griptape on his leg. He seemed fine but I’m pretty sure it hurt him as he avoided me for a bit.
We got the boat launched, loaded it up for the evening, and were off in search of smallies. Finn was acting off, with heavy panting and it seemed some anxiety but after about an hour he was his normal self in the boat. I didn’t think much of it and only as the evening wore on did I start worrying about getting him back into the truck to go home.
We picked up some fish on streamers and poppers, but the big ones came on dead drifted or lightly twitched poppers. Even picked up a donkey of a channel cat on a dead drift popper and broke him off at the boat. I didn’t want to get stabbed by a catfish last night anyway.
We headed back downstream to camp as dusk slowly crept across the river. The soft glow of the sun was waning and the hatches were coming off just like clockwork. Finn decided to take his favorite spot up in the front of the boat as we motored through the rocks. My trusted navigator for the last decade on the river. I’d be lying if I wasn’t a bit worried he would slip and fall out of the boat but it did my heart so good to see him there, ears flopping in the wind, that I couldn’t bring myself to tell him to get down. It was one of those roll til the wheels fall off moments that I might not ever see again in his life.
Back at camp, we loaded the boat and got the fire going. Finn immediately passed out behind the camp chairs and as much as I wanted to sit there shooting the breeze with Adam, I kept thinking about how tough it was to get him in these last few years and it was time to try to load him up. It was not easy. We got him in together, but I think alone it wouldn’t have been so simple. He immediately passed out on the back seat of the truck and slept the short drive home. I unloaded the boat and parked the truck where it would be much easier for him to get out.
He wouldn’t get out. What I failed to realize is he’s ten and has cataracts. He can’t see clearly. He definitely can’t see well at night. He couldn’t see past the light of the truck’s cab. He would look out to the yard but refused to move. I kept repeating in my head, “he can’t see…” and I think it’s why he’s comfortable at home but out and about, beyond our street, he acts funny.
I was only thinking about me and how much I need him by my side in the boat. I was thinking about the last ten years of adventures and how I wanted them to never end. But all things must end. That’s the crux of living. You can’t have the beautiful experiences of life without some heartaches and yesterday I believe I came to the final realization that his time as a boat dog is over and that hurts bad.
He’s earned his time to rest and enjoy laying around the house, barking at the UPS driver. He’s earned the cookies he gets next door. He’s earned that retirement.
He’s currently sitting behind me doing his little noises he makes to get my attention and he’s put his giant bear paw on my desk chair twice now so I guess it’s time to go find his leash and take him on a short walk before the sun goes down on another day.
