Flash's Song by Kay Pfaltz

Author:Kay Pfaltz
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Skyhorse Publishing
Published: 2015-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 22

The Decision Made

The longest journey you will ever travel is the journey from your head to your heart.

—ANONYMOUS

I BEGAN TO WEAN FLASH OFF THE STEROIDS.

Amy called in the morning. “I swung the pendulum. Are you ready?” she asked.

“Yes. Go ahead.”

“Okay, I swung it twice. Both times I asked, the answer was the same. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” I answered again. And these were her words: “Flash will live until spring. He’ll see the flowers bloom. But not on bloodroot. You’ll find another cure. Not the bloodroot,” she said again.

After a pause I asked, “Are you sure you swung it right?” Her snort let me know she didn’t appreciate that line of questioning. She replied somewhat curtly that she had swung it, detaching herself as much as possible from the outcome she wanted, and had let the answers come to her. And the answers were the same.

Perhaps I should have listened, but a mind made up is a formidable force, and I’d made up my mind without consulting my heart. I would use the bloodroot to cure to his cancer. How else would he see the spring?

Ted came out to give me support as Flash came off the steroids. I bought Flash a different travel bag, more of a knapsack, and I wore it strapped around my waist so Flash could be with us on walks, and when we were about to go out walking, Ted would say to me, “Bag him up!” meaning, put Flash in the bag.

Ted called it “Flash-in-the-bag” and, eyeing Flash’s smug face one day, he said, “He’s wondering why he didn’t get a tumor long ago,” in the deadpan, ironic tone that he had adopted and, but for the twinkle in his eye, I always thought was devoid of levity. And maybe Ted was right. Flash had never been keen on our long walks. How many steps does a dachshund take to each of mine? If it was hot outside, his black body trapped the sun and overheated. And if it was cold, his short smooth coat was not nearly enough to keep him warm and he shivered. He hated the cold. His window for walking was early spring or fall, 65 to 70 degrees, in the warm sun with a slight breeze. When his back trouble began, I left him at home while I took out Chance and Sasha. I missed having him with us but I felt good about doing the best thing for him. I figured he was happier resting indoors than being dragged along on a walk.

One day the girls and I were walking home up our driveway, tired and content, when I heard a strange sound. I might have found it beautiful, had it not held such plaintive longing. It was low and mournful but, like a crescendo, it built in volume at the end . . . and in despair. Flash was not singing, he was howling. Pulling the girls behind me, I ran inside and there he was at the front door, waiting.

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