On Thursday, October 9, Quint, my quirky Malti-poo, turned four years old. Quint has played an integral role in my movement, and voyage, forward after the passing of my husband, Rich.
On October 8, 2021, I brought Rich to the local ER after a several days of of him not feeling well after we’d returned from a road trip to New Jersey. It would be the last time I’d see him walk.
The following day, Rich was transferred to the ICU. On that day, across the nation in Southern California, a pregnant female dog that had been in a shelter before being pulled by a foster group, gave birth to five adorable pups. Their birth would become a grounding event for me.
On that day that marked the beginning or Rich’s demise, Quint and his littermates were struggling, too, due to health problems. I shared their sweet photos, videos and trials with Rich as a diversion and had casually mentioned that maybe one of those pups could be ours – a beacon of hope I realize now. But, Rich had made me promise there would be no more dogs, he’d lost too many. “No more dogs!” he’d replied loudly. The nurse in the room smiled at me knowing that probably wasn’t a possibility.
While the litter’s health situation improved, Rich’s did not. As I watched those puppies go through their ups and down filled with high rescue drama, I watched Rich lose his own battle. In my earliest stages of grief, just seven weeks after his passing, I boarded a plane to San Diego to retrieve one of those pups from that long-watched litter. I’d already named him Quint after a character in JAWS played by his favorite actor, Robert Shaw.
I was motivated to make that westward sojourn by the last conversation I’d had with Rich just days before there’d be no more words. When I think back, that trip didn’t really make sense. My elderly mother had come to stay with me, and it was the holiday season with things to be done.
But, it was a much-needed distraction and challenge. My first long distance trip in decades to a city to which I’d never been to fetch a dog that Rich had gotten to know just a bit via my cell phone. A dog he declared we didn’t need.
Quint was born with impaired vision, but most who meet him don’t readily detect it. He has adjusted so well to all the changes that have come our way since his arrival in December 2021. He affectionate, clever, stubborn (independent) and some might say spoiled, but adorable and often amusing with this antics.
Although he walks several times a day and has a special weight management diet, Quint has gained some weight which according to his vet is not unusual for a nearly blind dog. He just doesn’t move as much as a typical dog throughout the day preferring to stay in place in a favorite spot on the floor. He sometimes surprises us by taking a solo walk around our property, a route he navigates through sound and scent and who knows what else. It’s like he’s letting us know what he is capable of.
I’ve often written that when the time is right, so is the dog. I believe that’s why Quint was “assigned” to me by the universe. He guided me into the reality of my new world and eased my loneliness and sorrow during my first holiday season without my husband, and points beyond.
If you’d caught a glimpse of Quint and I out and about, you wouldn’t think there goes a blind dog and a widowed person. A confident pair, we are taken at face value by the unkowing world, each day starting out on a clean slate.
Happy Birthday, Quint. From the belly of a stray in California, to the lap of a grieving widow, Quint’s path someone aligned with mine. You’ve been with me from the very start of this widow’s voyage; from those early days of my loss, the challenges of the harsh realities of that second-year, the small-stepping forward year, and now, in our fourth year together, as we continue to navigate this hopeful, but sometimes rocky timeline together with a blended family and your adopted new pack members. Your presence keeps me centered and gives me purpose.
