This Little Guy
Winston came to us 16 years ago. He was just about two, a stray passed from family to family in the Girl Scout troop. Vicki brought him home “for the weekend” and by that Sunday I went to the pet store and had a name tag engraved with “Winston” - put it in an envelope and gave it to our girls to open. They screamed and he was ours. Audrey was 3. Now she’s 19.
Every family photo worth remembering includes Winston. Camping trips, holidays, birthdays, family reunions. Winston hid in a duffel so we could sneak him into my grandfather’s rest home as a therapy pet. He’s driven thousands of miles with us across the U.S. Once his stomach was ripped open in a tussle with a possum in our back yard - he needed 30 stitches but came back strong. We have removed 13 possums from our back yard (using a humane live animal trap) since then. He endured countless little girl slumber parties and countless hours being groomed, brushed, held and hugged.
During Covid, Audrey carried him in a sling in the high Sierras when we hiked the sequoias. He sleeps every night on the floor by my bedside. For the past 3 years he has gone blind, needing guidance on walks and help getting outside. Taking care of Winston has been a lesson in slowing down, seeing the world through his careful cautious pace. Sometimes lately he forgets he is not outside when he pees. He bumps into the wall like a pinball, dutifully trying again to maneuver the living room. He walks gingerly with stiffness and has had trouble keeping down food. I cannot imagine our home without him.
Tonight - Saturday, Aug 20 - is his last night with us. I have never “put down” a pet before. Sounds terrible. But my close friend in the animal space said “you can help him transition to a place of peace.” So tomorrow at 11, a vet is coming to the house. Winston has no idea. Today I bathed him and added fresh salmon, his favorite, to his food. So that’s my report. I’d rather share it now, when he is still with us, than after he leaves us. Vicki, Audrey and I will be together with him tomorrow. Ps. 50 says “I know all the birds of the hills, and every beast of the field is mine.” He will transition, and we will miss him forever.
