Sweet Pepper

 

Pepper, aka Peppersroni, aka Wouldn't You Like to Be a Pepper Too Lyons-Luquet crossed over the Rainbow Bridge on Thursday, Nov. 7 at about 7:30 p.m. He went gently, quietly, without making a sound. Thankfully, he was in no pain, but it was definitely his time to go.

Pepper came to live with us on October 11, 2020, after a somewhat sketchy first decade or so. I don't know much about his previous life other than that he was left alone a lot by his owners. He ended up in the care of the Creole Poodle Rescue Group, who previously let us adopt Leigheaux, and he found his way to us not long after Leigheaux passed away. I didn't want Lola to be an only dog. Yes, I did get my dog a dog. 

He was the sweetest thing when he came to us with jet black fur. I can only imagine how scared and confused he must have been to be just dropped off at a strange house with strange people. He already had cataracts in his eyes and his foster mom said he could still see out of only one. After a day or so we thought he might be deaf as well, but I think he had very selective hearing. 

He slept. A lot. And very soundly. But as soon as he heard my voice he was up and wagging his tail, knowing he was about to get treats. If I went in the kitchen to fill my metal cup with ice, he was there, fully expecting a treat. I think he could smell me too because, sometimes I tried to sneak past him.

And wherever I went, he went -- bathroom, kitchen, sofa, even upstairs for quite some time.

But he waned quickly. Before long he could no longer make it up the stairs. He had way too many accidents inside, even with a doggie door that was open all the time. He was incontinent a lot.

In recent months, Pepper lost his remaining sight. He was completely blind. But I'll be damned if that dog didn't map this whole house in his little brain. He knew where everything is and how to get from Point A to Point B. He would follow the walls all the way around if he had to. It was pretty amazing to watch. He even could get through the doggie door at times, but started to have a hard time getting back in. He got lost in the yard a lot so he would bark until one of us went to rescue him.

But he only fell in the pool once. Marty found him swimming. It never happened again. But he did enjoy the float!

Lately, he would sleep in his little bed in the laundry room and bark when he needed to go outside. We would pick him up and take him out and wait for him to bark to come back in. Until the last few days. He also would bark sometimes just to get us to answer him to let him know where we were. If we were in the living room watching TV, he would painstakingly make his way there to his little bed under the TV. 

His slide was quick and heart-breaking. He was skin and bones with an arthritic backside and a weird claw that grew extra long and extra thick. We had to take him to the vet to let them cut it every few weeks, but he slid on the wood floors a lot.

The last few days he just slept. Stopped eating and drinking. Today he refused treats. And I knew.

I wrapped him in a soft towel and sat outside with him, holding him like a little baby, thinking it would be a short time before he left. But I guess he enjoyed it too much to go. He was there, but his breathing was soft and shallow. Every once in a while he would try to bark. On the first Thursday of the month in the River Parishes, all the plants test their warning sirens for several minutes at noon. We were outside and it was quite loud. He seemed to be trying to howl with the sirens for a moment.

And the whole time we were out there, there were two giant dragonflies that hovered near us. If you know me, you know dragonflies were a sign from my late brother. I now have them all over my house. It's a thing for my whole family now. I know it was a sign -- and it doesn't matter who it was from.

I spent a few hours outside with Pepper until I needed to go inside. I put him in his other little bed in the living room. He was in a doggie coma though, not very responsive but still breathing. I checked on him every few minutes, watching to see if the towel was still moving up and down with his little breaths.

After dinner, I had to go do some work covering a football game in north Louisiana, so I headed to our little office while Marty stayed in the living room.

 At halftime, I went to check on him. The blanket wasn't moving. He was still warm and soft. But he was gone.

I wanted so badly to be holding him when he left us, but I just missed it. I tried.

Daniel had come over during the day to help Marty dig a spot in our little pet cemetery in the front yard. Laycee, Lucy, Lyon and Shelley are there already. Lollee and Leigheaux were cremated and their ashes were sprinkled at the nearby park where we walked every day for many years.

While we were in my swing today, I kept telling Pepper he needed to go and that he would be met by Laycee and Lucy and Lollee and Lyon and Leigheaux -- but he might have to convince them he was really mine because his name didn't start with an "L."

"Just tell them your mom sang a bunch of silly songs to you all the time and they'll know," I said.

I hope they are all together, running free, hearing, seeing, chasing dragonflies. And I hope they are all waiting for me.

I'll miss you, Peps.