We had it all, just like Bogey and Bacall
Lead Summary
By
Steve Roush-
“Here’s lookin’ at you, kid. Missing all the things we did…”
– From Bertie Higgins’ 1981 hit song “Key Largo”
Ladies and gentlemen, the sun was shining brightly on a warm, fall Friday afternoon in Georgia. A young sports editor was working away in the newsroom. There were games to cover, stories to write, deadlines to meet and a newspaper to publish.
It all started as a typical day for this recently-married journalist – or in more specific terms, me.
In a moment, it became a day I’ll never forget as long as I live.
The chief photographer walks in and announces she has a litter of puppies in a crate outside. The puppies had been unceremoniously dumped off at the local pound and the photog needed a little help get them photographed so we could publish their photos in the newspaper in hopes of finding them forever homes.
A buddy and I volunteered to assist. My lovely wife, Helen, and I were parents of our beloved Bogey, a yellow lab/husky mix who proudly served as my best man on a beach in Florida back in June, so I certainly wanted to see that all these abandoned pups were adopted.
As I walked outside on that fateful autumn day, a furry, yellowish-white pup immediately caught my eye, and apparently I caught hers, as well.
She was so tiny, and came over to me. I picked her up.
After a few minutes of holding and petting this pretty little girl, I ask my friend and colleague, “What if I just take her home with me right now?”
He smiles and says, “Go for it, man. Getting them good homes is the goal here, right?”
I looked her in the eye. Her eyes were so beautiful.
With the baby girl in my arm like a little football, I took off to my 1999 Pontiac Grand Am, set her in the passenger’s seat and took her back to the apartment. I gave her a bath (she was filthy), gave her a little something to eat (she was hungry, too), and knew Helen would be home from her commute shortly so I gave her a call, letting her know I had a surprise waiting for her.
She was, indeed, surprised.
It took us no time to agree that we would give her a forever home, and since Bogey was named Bogey in a tip of the hat to Helen’s favorite actor, Humphrey Bogart, it didn’t take much time to give her the name Bacall, after actress Lauren Bacall.
The next day, we took Bogey and Bacall to a local park and let them run and play and get to know each other. The little 3-pound fur ball chased behind Bogey and they became fast friends.
Things were going well for young Bacall, until the day she started vomiting. We took her to a “big-box” store that had a vet clinic, and were assured Bacall would be fine.
Helen begged me later to get a second opinion, so I took her to a local vet. After looking her over for a minute or two, the doc told me, “This dog’s dying.”
Bacall had canine parvovirus, and the doc told me he’d keep her at the clinic and put her on an IV and give her medication. He said he’d do all he can and would let me know the next day if she’d survive.
As I carried Bacall’s little harness and leash out of the vet’s office that day, I cried. When I told Helen the news, we cried.
I was a ball of nerves when my phone rang the next day. The doc told me he wasn’t initially sure she’d make it, but Bacall somehow bounced back and would be fine and we could take her home. He added that if we had waited any longer we wouldn’t have been as lucky as most deaths from parvovirus occur within 48 to 72 hours following the onset of clinical signs.
Turns out, there was a parvo outbreak at the local pound, and the entire population of the pound was euthanized and the pound was disinfected. I was told that all of Bacall’s littermates had developed the highly-contagious virus and died.
We hugged Bacall, thanked her for fighting off the deadly disease and promised her we’d give her a great life and always take good care of her.
Like most puppies, Bacall was a little chewer and chewed things she shouldn’t like furniture, carpet, walls, linoleum and so forth – and I learned to become a bit handier at repairing such items.
As she quickly grew up, she became very athletic and coordinated – she’d snatch a Frisbee out of the air while midair and often throw in a twist for flair – and became a loyal friend and a big lapdog who loved giving us kisses and her attention.
She called several places home as we moved from Georgia to Ohio to North Carolina and then back to Ohio again.
Over the years, she helped us welcome Damselle, Dailey and Bear into our family, and helped us mourn when we laid her lifelong friend, Bogey, to rest in late 2011. He was 13.
Bacall was there for all the good times, and comforted us during the bad ones. I could write a novel about all of it, perhaps someday I will.
In September, we celebrated her 13th birthday with hamburgers (one of her favorites), toys and treats. It was a special day.
Not long afterward, she began to get ill for the first time since she was a puppy.
Despite bloodwork and treatment, Bacall got worse. Nothing seemed to help. We hospitalized her and she had X-rays, an ultrasound, more bloodwork and other tests, which all came back normal and didn’t show anything out of the ordinary.
We checked Bacall out of the hospital and took her to a specialist who gave her an endoscopy. Something was found in her stomach, a biopsy was taken and we’d find out the results in roughly 72 hours.
We were told it could be one of three diagnoses, which I called good, bad and ugly.
For three days we waited and prayed. On one of Bacall’s walks, Helen and I both sat down to pet her and we cried, and Bacall wagged her tailed and lovingly kissed away our tears.
When the results finally came, our hearts sank. It was terminal. Yes, there were a couple of things we could try that had a small chance of extending Bacall’s life by a month or two, but there was a very good chance they would make her feel even worse. Her situation was likened to driving on a bald tire, yes, you can keep going with it, but inevitably, it’s going to fail and fail badly (and painfully).
We talked, we prayed and we cried some more.
The next day, I took Bacall out for a walk and she slowly and weakly went over and stood by our car, looking at its back door. It was like she knew and was saying, “It’s OK.”
A short time later, we took Bacall for a drive. The whole time we told her over and over how much we love her and how special she is.
When we arrive, the vet tells us once this procedure starts, it all happens (ends) quickly. I never had a harder time signing my name to a piece of paper.
God, how did it get so late so soon?
At 4:09 p.m. that sunny, autumn day, Bacall and I look each other in the eye as I pet her and tell her how much we love her and thank her for being such a special gift to us. Her eyes, they are so beautiful and loving. A few fleeting moments later, Bogey and Bacall are back together again.
They say that having a dog like Bacall will bless you with the happiest days of your life, and one of the worst days.
They are right.
Thank you for everything, Bacall, I am so grateful you chose us. We’ll see you and Bogey again one day, and please watch over us until then.
Steve Roush is a vice president of an international media company and a columnist and contributing writer for The Highland County Press. He can be reached by email at roush_steve@msn.com.
– From Bertie Higgins’ 1981 hit song “Key Largo”
Ladies and gentlemen, the sun was shining brightly on a warm, fall Friday afternoon in Georgia. A young sports editor was working away in the newsroom. There were games to cover, stories to write, deadlines to meet and a newspaper to publish.
It all started as a typical day for this recently-married journalist – or in more specific terms, me.
In a moment, it became a day I’ll never forget as long as I live.
The chief photographer walks in and announces she has a litter of puppies in a crate outside. The puppies had been unceremoniously dumped off at the local pound and the photog needed a little help get them photographed so we could publish their photos in the newspaper in hopes of finding them forever homes.
A buddy and I volunteered to assist. My lovely wife, Helen, and I were parents of our beloved Bogey, a yellow lab/husky mix who proudly served as my best man on a beach in Florida back in June, so I certainly wanted to see that all these abandoned pups were adopted.
As I walked outside on that fateful autumn day, a furry, yellowish-white pup immediately caught my eye, and apparently I caught hers, as well.
She was so tiny, and came over to me. I picked her up.
After a few minutes of holding and petting this pretty little girl, I ask my friend and colleague, “What if I just take her home with me right now?”
He smiles and says, “Go for it, man. Getting them good homes is the goal here, right?”
I looked her in the eye. Her eyes were so beautiful.
With the baby girl in my arm like a little football, I took off to my 1999 Pontiac Grand Am, set her in the passenger’s seat and took her back to the apartment. I gave her a bath (she was filthy), gave her a little something to eat (she was hungry, too), and knew Helen would be home from her commute shortly so I gave her a call, letting her know I had a surprise waiting for her.
She was, indeed, surprised.
It took us no time to agree that we would give her a forever home, and since Bogey was named Bogey in a tip of the hat to Helen’s favorite actor, Humphrey Bogart, it didn’t take much time to give her the name Bacall, after actress Lauren Bacall.
The next day, we took Bogey and Bacall to a local park and let them run and play and get to know each other. The little 3-pound fur ball chased behind Bogey and they became fast friends.
Things were going well for young Bacall, until the day she started vomiting. We took her to a “big-box” store that had a vet clinic, and were assured Bacall would be fine.
Helen begged me later to get a second opinion, so I took her to a local vet. After looking her over for a minute or two, the doc told me, “This dog’s dying.”
Bacall had canine parvovirus, and the doc told me he’d keep her at the clinic and put her on an IV and give her medication. He said he’d do all he can and would let me know the next day if she’d survive.
As I carried Bacall’s little harness and leash out of the vet’s office that day, I cried. When I told Helen the news, we cried.
I was a ball of nerves when my phone rang the next day. The doc told me he wasn’t initially sure she’d make it, but Bacall somehow bounced back and would be fine and we could take her home. He added that if we had waited any longer we wouldn’t have been as lucky as most deaths from parvovirus occur within 48 to 72 hours following the onset of clinical signs.
Turns out, there was a parvo outbreak at the local pound, and the entire population of the pound was euthanized and the pound was disinfected. I was told that all of Bacall’s littermates had developed the highly-contagious virus and died.
We hugged Bacall, thanked her for fighting off the deadly disease and promised her we’d give her a great life and always take good care of her.
Like most puppies, Bacall was a little chewer and chewed things she shouldn’t like furniture, carpet, walls, linoleum and so forth – and I learned to become a bit handier at repairing such items.
As she quickly grew up, she became very athletic and coordinated – she’d snatch a Frisbee out of the air while midair and often throw in a twist for flair – and became a loyal friend and a big lapdog who loved giving us kisses and her attention.
She called several places home as we moved from Georgia to Ohio to North Carolina and then back to Ohio again.
Over the years, she helped us welcome Damselle, Dailey and Bear into our family, and helped us mourn when we laid her lifelong friend, Bogey, to rest in late 2011. He was 13.
Bacall was there for all the good times, and comforted us during the bad ones. I could write a novel about all of it, perhaps someday I will.
In September, we celebrated her 13th birthday with hamburgers (one of her favorites), toys and treats. It was a special day.
Not long afterward, she began to get ill for the first time since she was a puppy.
Despite bloodwork and treatment, Bacall got worse. Nothing seemed to help. We hospitalized her and she had X-rays, an ultrasound, more bloodwork and other tests, which all came back normal and didn’t show anything out of the ordinary.
We checked Bacall out of the hospital and took her to a specialist who gave her an endoscopy. Something was found in her stomach, a biopsy was taken and we’d find out the results in roughly 72 hours.
We were told it could be one of three diagnoses, which I called good, bad and ugly.
For three days we waited and prayed. On one of Bacall’s walks, Helen and I both sat down to pet her and we cried, and Bacall wagged her tailed and lovingly kissed away our tears.
When the results finally came, our hearts sank. It was terminal. Yes, there were a couple of things we could try that had a small chance of extending Bacall’s life by a month or two, but there was a very good chance they would make her feel even worse. Her situation was likened to driving on a bald tire, yes, you can keep going with it, but inevitably, it’s going to fail and fail badly (and painfully).
We talked, we prayed and we cried some more.
The next day, I took Bacall out for a walk and she slowly and weakly went over and stood by our car, looking at its back door. It was like she knew and was saying, “It’s OK.”
A short time later, we took Bacall for a drive. The whole time we told her over and over how much we love her and how special she is.
When we arrive, the vet tells us once this procedure starts, it all happens (ends) quickly. I never had a harder time signing my name to a piece of paper.
God, how did it get so late so soon?
At 4:09 p.m. that sunny, autumn day, Bacall and I look each other in the eye as I pet her and tell her how much we love her and thank her for being such a special gift to us. Her eyes, they are so beautiful and loving. A few fleeting moments later, Bogey and Bacall are back together again.
They say that having a dog like Bacall will bless you with the happiest days of your life, and one of the worst days.
They are right.
Thank you for everything, Bacall, I am so grateful you chose us. We’ll see you and Bogey again one day, and please watch over us until then.
Steve Roush is a vice president of an international media company and a columnist and contributing writer for The Highland County Press. He can be reached by email at roush_steve@msn.com.