March 10, 2023 ~ Friday (Amazingly nice out – we must be expecting a surprise blizzard!)
I like rainbows. Dorothy traveled over one. Israel (Izzy) Kamakawiwoʻole sang (so beautifully) about “somewhere” over one. Sunshine after storms creates them. They are the symbol of love and acceptance. And who doesn’t like the rainbow-shaped marshmallows in the Lucky Charms cereal? (After all, they are magically delicious!)
And bridges … suspension, wooden, covered, rope … they are wonderful. I love any bridge (especially in Paris, Germany, or London). There is a beautiful one spanning the channel on the north side of the island, where I used to live. Gorgeous truss work. While in South Carolina once, I watched three swans walk over a stone bridge – it was ethereally beautiful and a vision that is etched into my memory. My great-grandfather was a bridge tender (as they were called) across the Chicago River when my dad was just a boy. I have a photo of 10-year-old me straddling the international marker on the bridge between Canada and the United States. You cross any bridge and you are somewhere else. Bridges are lovely. Other than the height, what’s not to love?
But when you put them together, you get something beautiful but also heartbreaking. Sigh. It’s been too often, and I, personally, need a hiatus from all things rainbows and bridges for a while as it seems that I’ve been visiting the “Rainbow Bridge” way too often of late.
Not quite three years ago on an oddly quiet and no-dog day, I got a neighbor’s notification that a little dog was picked up at a busy intersection in town. (As in busy, I mean one street tee’d into the other with only one stop sign and if there were more than two cars, it was considered to be “busy”. The speed limit was a whopping 25 mph but people usually drove at 18 mph – meaning it was a typical road in that sleepy, island town of fewer than 1000 people). But still, that was no place for a very tiny stray dog. The neighbor wanted to know what to “do” with it. I said I’d be RIGHT over.
And that is how Aunt Bea came into my life. In the time of masks, Covid, isolation, and uncertainty – with the U.S. surpassing 170,000 deaths on that date – a sweet, tan and white, somewhat furry, snaggle-toothed, roughly (per my vet) 19-year-old, 8-lb chihuahua-wonder wandered into my life … and made herself at home in my heart.
At first I was calling her Baby … and then it was shortened to B. And then, as I was hoping someone (but not really hoping all that much) would call me to claim her – I told her I just wanted her to be home. Cuz, at the end of the day, there’s no place like home. And it was then that I decided to call her Dorothy. But, as the days went on – that name didn’t quite stick or fit. I kept calling her “B” and one day I was thinking about home and comfort and thought – everyone should have an Aunt Bea. And there ya go … “B” became (Aunt) Bea.
I’d never had a dog that tiny before (she must have been like a gerbil when a puppy!). She was like the Cocker Spaniel pups we used to have but never got bigger than their fourth week in size. She had medium-length fur, a tan spot on her right side that looked like the silhouette of Mickey Mouse ears, tiny pencil legs, and long, slender, squirrel-like toes. No one claimed her and after a few days I had grown so attached, I was worried someone actually would! But, try as I might (and I did try!) … no one ever did. Lucky me. And just like that, somehow, I had a new dog.
And for the next 928 days I lived with that toothless (I had all of her oh-god-so-rotten teeth extracted) gummy baby who twirled circles when she was happy, pawed at my feet for her breakfast, threw a toy around a whole 2x, and who had a penchant for licking (up) noses. She was a funny little hedgehog of a dog who skittered around the house … scurrying here and there for a bit, eating whenever and whatever she could get her little pink gums on, and then sleeping the other 22 hours of each day.
I made her homemade food (no teeth/hard to eat much of anything) … and no matter what she ate – and man, did she eat – she always had room for doggy dessert. I hate to admit it, but the girl loved her cake!
As time went on, her hearing left her … her eyesight in the past few months, too, and she increased her sleeping by at least another hour. She was the potato of choice in the house.
And, as life goes and after a rough weekend with her having seizures, I found myself driving with her to the vet’s office, earlier this week, as I tried to prepare myself for the heartbreaking task of saying goodbye to my sweet little companion for the last time. That damned Rainbow Bridge was before us and … even through the tears and aching heart and not wanting to … I knew she needed to go. But, damn, it never gets any easier!
I had her wrapped in a cozy towel and we were led into a candlelit room with a sofa and soft music. (Soooo nice!) And there on the end table below a lovely little picture of dogs and cats running in green grass, by a bridge and under a rainbow, was a basket with a banner on it – “Rainbow Bridge Buffet”. And in my heartache, I laughed … it was just the sweetest thing. Containers of bacon strips, cupcakes, Oreo cookies, mini candy bars, a variety of dog treats, and a tub of chocolate frosting were in the basket for the “last treat” of whoever was un/fortunate enough to be in that room.
I brought a powdered donut (aka: cake) with me but chocolate frosting! Fabulous – that topped the cake! Literally! So, I gave Bea some donut and then scooped out some frosting and let her lick it off my finger. Heaven! (Well, almost – but not quite yet!) The vet came in to take her back to get the IV set and after we chatted, he gently took Bea from me and then winked at me and said, “We’re taking the tub with us!”
Ten minutes later, Bea was settled in my arms, wrapped in a sweet little blanket – all ready for her journey. I kissed her one last time and a few minutes or so later, she was gone – off to the Rainbow Bridge – with 1/4 tub of chocolate frosting in her tummy and a hint of it on her lips.
I can’t think of a better way to go. Maybe I’ll put in an order for that for myself.
Thank you, Bea, for being such a cute, sweet, little love bug. Go have fun, you little goober.