D e s e r t E x p o s u r e
September 2009
The Visitor
Page: 2"There," Joan smiled. "That's all there is to it. Just go inside and wait."
"And she'll come?"
"She'll come."
On Friday, my person knew something had shifted in my condition. She didn't know what exactly, but she gently lifted me into the front seat of the truck and drove me back to the vet. Outside the examination room, thinking that I couldn't hear, the doctor told her that my blood work showed my kidneys were shutting down. "She has maybe a couple of days, maybe a week, at the outside, a month," the vet explained.
"Maybe she'll just go peacefully in her sleep."
"It rarely happens that way."
"How will I know? How will I make the decision?" my person asked.
"Sandulik will let you know. Call me when it's time."
I certainly could have retreated to my soft, round queen-sized bed at this point and no one would have thought less of me, but I had things to do. I had to be sure everything was in its right place before I would be ready to say goodbye. My hips could no longer hold me up for any extended length of time and it was becoming more and more difficult for me to even lift them from the floor. My person stayed close by to help when I wanted to move. I spent long hours in the living room with my people. I lay across my person's feet. I managed to make my way over to the man's chair and requested petting. Outside, I reclined in the sun by the front gate and watched the neighbors build their new patio. I did not eat or drink.
On Saturday, the day after the diagnosis of kidney failure, I plummeted. My internal systems were shutting down. My person, distraught and close to tears, picked up her cell phone and walked into the backyard.
I could hear her. "I think it's time," she was telling the vet.
I rallied and stood up by myself. I walked out the back door with my tail wagging and a spring in my step. "I'm not ready yet," I told her with my eyes and my grin. "I still have things to finish."
That night I woke her several times for attention. My bed was by her side of the big bed and she'd drop her hand down, caress my velvet ears and my tummy; then we'd both drop back to sleep.
Over the next several days, I held court in the yard as my person's sister and my person's friends — my "aunties" — came by to pay their respects. I watched the birds and the ants. I rolled over on my back in the grass and let the sun warm my belly. I accepted all pettings and refused all food and water. My weight dropped to 65 pounds.
On the third Thursday night in April, one week after my visit to the vet and before my person could make that phone call, I gasped my last breath and died in my own bed. I had promised my person that she wouldn't have to make the decision, and a queen always keeps her promise.
I watched Joan wave goodbye and drive away. The bright red feeder shined in the late afternoon sunlight. The scent of spring from the garden and the xeriscape drifted upward into the branches and leaves of the Mexican Elder where I sat. I'd walked this whole yard many times, sniffing the ground for signs that a neighborhood cat had trespassed onto my property, chewed on the long grass under the butterfly bush, roughhoused on the lawn with the large great Dane that was my housemate. I had wonderful memories of my earthbound life, but now I was skyborn.
I waited a few minutes until I was sure that my person would be settled into the big blue recliner in front of the living room window, and then on wings of pure delight, I swooped down from the elder tree and alighted on the feeder. I drank in the sugar nectar and quivered with ecstasy. Kibble was never this sweet. I sipped again, arched my slender neck, looked directly at the window and winked to let her know that I knew she was watching; then, with a song in my heart, I lifted off into the spring evening to ride the wind, weighing virtually nothing.
Late that evening, I zipped by the house and saw her sitting cross-legged on the lawn swing with the phone to her ear.
"Joan! Guess what? We had a visitor!"
She threw back her head and laughed in the way that I remember her doing so often.
"Yes! A visitor to the hummingbird feeder! You were right! Yes! She did!"
Well, of course I did. This is my yard. I am the Queen. I am San-dooo-lik. I am hummingbird. See me soar.
Jeannie Miller has recently become an avid hummingbird observer from the comfort of her big blue recliner. She lives in Silver City.