A Christmas without Hope

December 5, 2024
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Montrose Star
Posted in HRH REPORT
4

By Johnny Trlica

Commentary: This holiday season is a depressing time of year for many people. It seems all hope is lost as the entire nation (well, 50 percent of it, anyway) has lost their cotton-picking mind.

How could anyone think it is a good idea to put a convicted felon and rapist back in charge of anything, much less the free world? At least we’ll get cheap eggs out of the deal.

For myself, losing an election is not the worst thing to happen last month. I had to make one of the most difficult decisions of my life. On November 4, the day before the election, I had to say goodbye to my constant companion.

She was with me during the great power grid failure of 2021, where we snuggled together under the sheets to keep from freezing to death. She evacuated with me from hurricanes, played with me on the beach, and attended too many family gatherings to count.

Hope, my black lab rescue dog, was around six years old when I got her over seven years ago. My friend, Jeannie, saved her from an abusive neighbor. Hope, the name she had already been given was malnourished and had heartworms upon her rescue, but quickly recovered thanks to the love and care she received from Jeannie.

About a year later, Jeannie asked me to “dog sit” Hope while she took on an out-of-town job. I had not had a dog in years and was not looking to take on that responsibility again but agreed to watch Hope for the interim.

Hope settled into my Montrose apartment but always maintained her boundaries. She would not sleep in the bed with me. She’d lie on the floor next to the bed, always facing the door as if to stand guard or perhaps await Jeannie’s return. When my “dog sitting” gig was up, I was prepared to turn Hope over to her rescuer.
But something happened along the way. In her quiet, unassuming way, Hope grew on me. She was house trained, knew a few words and commands and had a gentle soul. So, Hope became mine.

When I’d walk her around on the uneven, broken sidewalks of Montrose, she’d shy away from any neighbors we would encounter along the way. She showed no interest in other dogs out for their walks and a brief encounter with a squirrel did not end well — for the squirrel.

Hope was with me when I moved to Galveston two years after I had acquired her. By that time, she was sleeping with me and had become comfortable approaching passersby on our walks along The Strand. She loved attention from strangers and the treats some would offer. And car rides. Boy, did she love car rides!
One day, I came home from work and Hope was bloody and there was blood on several doors of the condo and what appeared to be teeth imprints on a couple of brass doorknobs. I believe Hope had a run in with the legendary Ghost Dogs of Galveston, a phantom pack of dogs believed to have belonged to the pirate Jean Lafitte.

I speculated the ghost dogs had entered the apartment and Hope, fearing for her life, fought them off and chewed the doorknobs to escape.

By the time Hope and I moved to our current home, her face was nearly completely gray. She befriended Marie, a retired nurse who lives next door, and who offered my aging dog treats whenever they ran into each other.

She had developed cataracts, arthritis, and other mobility issues that usually affect older dogs. As Hope’s health worsened, I bought her some stairs to help her get into bed. Eventually I would pick her up and put her into bed. Our walks became an unpleasant chore for my now 13-year-old companion. She required mechanical assistance to get down and then back up the stairs. Eventually, I would have to carry her back inside.

When a dog’s quality of life is that badly compromised, its owner has the duty to make the difficult decision.

I took Hope for a nice long car ride. She could no longer sit up and ride shotgun for me like she used to do, but the expression on her face that day will leave a lasting impression. She seemed happy doing what she loved most.

Jeannie stopped by to love on Hope and say goodbye. Before putting her in the car for her final ride, we stopped by Marie’s house. The pair had grown very fond of each other, and they had a bittersweet farewell.

I did not realize how much I loved that dog until it came time to say goodbye. She was my constant companion, and it was touching to see how many Facebook friends felt a connection to the old girl, having followed her adventures through my hundreds of posts about her.

I suppose I’ll get another dog one day. I’ll know when the time is right. Until then, I will continue to grieve a little, remember the good times, and know that Hope is waiting for me across the Rainbow Bridge.