Thank You for Our Pets

In Remembrance of Tramp

Tramp was on the side of the road in the Fall of 1994 when I first met him.  It was a time when I was renovating an 1860s farmhouse that was moved from a downtown location to river land purchased from money paid to both me and my brother by the State of North Carolina after our father was burned alive in a rest home.  Each weekend I worked relentlessly, gutting old plaster and lath boards and transporting them in the bed of my ’87 red Ford pickup to the local county dumps. It was dirty work, but kept me busy with a project that gave hope for a better future –a home of my own.

Early on a Saturday morning, on one of those trips to the old farmhouse, I passed what seemed like a burlap bag on the side of the road. In fact, I passed it several times throughout the day before I saw the little puppy sitting beside the bag.  Assuming it was a puppy from down the road, I did not think much of him at first, but at dusk, he was still sitting in that same spot.  It finally dawned on me that somebody had dumped him out on the road in the country!  After calling a close friend, Cat, she agreed to ride with me to get the little puppy. So I grabbed a towel, picked up my friend, and we went after that little puppy. Cat brought along a flashlight and spotted a possum, just a few feet from the puppy as we approached.  Excitedly, we rushed to the spot, yelling and waving our arms to scare off the possum – the puppy was frozen in fear; he never moved. Wrapping the towel around him, I cradled him in my arms and headed back to the house.

Poor, pathetic, little creature!  In the light, we saw his red, scabby skin.  His hair had been singed off his body; he had been left on the side of the road in a bag with his litter sisters and brothers who had not survived; and he was in shock.  Cleaning him with gentle strokes and warm sudsy water, I wrapped him in a warm towel as I prepared for sleep.  After two weeks of trying to self medicate his skin with burnt motor oil, I finally took him to a local vet who diagnosed him with red scabies; that was why Cat and I had been itching like crazy – we were infected, too!   When I told Cat that I was only going to nurse him back to health and then find a good home for him, she said, “You’ll wind up keeping that dog, and he’ll be the most faithful dog you’ll ever have.”

At the time I also had two black labs – Millie and Max, so the last thing I needed was another vet bill and mouth to feed. Eventually, the pup was given a name and fuzz began to appear on his little body.  Millie, the female lab, took him under her wing like the loving matriarch she was and taught him his responsibilities and manners. Maybe, due to being traumatized by the possum, he never forgot, and killed any possum or raccoon that wandered into our yard. If someone drove into the yard, Tramp would sneak behind the vehicle and slowly come up behind.  Then he would lower his head, begin a low guttural growl, stopping only when I gave the command.  Even though Tramp had a shyness about him, he grew into a fearless protector and was a loving and faithful family member.  The Lord has always blessed me with smart dogs.

Through the years, Millie, Max, Tramp and I formed a little family unit, and they would ride in the truck with me while I worked on the house. For a decade, as I shied away from society and lost myself in the big renovation project, my dogs, truly, were my most loyal friends. Through the years, each companion slowly passed away until only Tramp and the ’89 Red Ford Ranger remained of the original family unit.  As age took its toll, Tramp began to stay closer to home; he no longer went on long romps though the river hills.  This past year, he rarely went far due to his arthritis. With a regimen of Glucosamine, stress tabs and vitamins, he was able to take short steps to keep me company on my morning strolls.  At some point in time, he lost his ferocious bark, and only little woof sounds emitted from his throat.

On the night of his disappearance, my husband and I were returning from a trip into town.  As I pulled up to the front walk, a loud yelp sounded, and I knew that I had hit something.  No sooner than my husband jumped out of the truck than he told me to back up quickly.  I had run up to the back part of Tramp’s body! To this day, I don’t know why I did not see him. Tony and I helped him up, and Tramp was able to stand, rather wobbly at first, but he took a few tentative steps.  Then we lifted and carried him  to his favorite spot under the cedar tree.  I kept checking on him throughout the night, giving him baby aspirin, cupping water to his mouth and petting his head with soothing words. Every time I opened the front door, his little white face would pop up, looking expectedly at me.  In his pain, he loved me so much.

But the next morning he was gone, and thus began our search. With his injury, I knew he could not go far, but after several days of walking the countryside and calling his name - nothing. On the second night, it began to rain, and I asked the Lord to protect Tramp; I hoped that he was in a sheltered area, but on the third night,  when the temperature dropped to freezing, I prayed that he was no longer in pain.  Losing hope, the guilt, the hurt, and the not knowing where he was bore down heavily. Not finding a way to escape the hurt, I stayed up all night crying and polishing silver for Thanksgiving.

The next day my daughter called and asked me to come over and spend time with her and my granddaughter. Playing with my grandchild and talking with my daughter did my heart a world of good; thank the Lord for daughters. Later, I called home and let my husband know that I would be spending the night with my babies; it was the first restful sleep I had had that week.

Next morning, with Tramp pushed into the back recesses of my mind, I drove into town to pick up some paint for the house and bought a few groceries before heading home.  Later, my husband and I sat on the front porch in our rocking chairs, and as we talked, I began to hear some little “woofs.”  “Did you hear that?” I asked. My husband, Tony,  heard nothing, but I kept hearing it so I took off  walking in the direction of the sound, down a steep hillside to a feeder stream to the river, and thought, “there’s no way, in his shape, he could have come this far.”  Every so often, I would stop and listen for the sound of the woofs, then start walking again, heading in an upstream direction into a thick wooded ravine area.  It was dusk, now, and after a while, I came into a little clearing that I recognized.  It was a waterhole that Tramp and the black labs, Max and Millie, would go to in the heat of the summer many years ago.

And that’s where I found Tramp. He had sought this place in his time of death – a place where he had shared companionship and playtime with the first and only family he had ever known.  I dropped down by his side, and again, cried and cried, knowing, finally, that he had come to this place to seek relief from his pain in the memory of once upon a time.

This morning, my husband retrieved Tramp from the ravine.  We dug his grave in his favorite spot -under the cedar tree overlooking the river.  As Tony cut the lower branches from the cedar tree, I used them as a spray to cover his grave. While piling the limbs, heavily loaded with the blue cedar berries, I thanked the Lord for bringing this animal into my life. I thanked him for the opportunity to care for him and receive his love. Tramp is home, without pain, and his spirit roams free in the river hills with his playmates. God bless him, and thank you, Lord!