God hears “amen” wherever we are

Every now and then, things get so sideways that you have no idea how you got here.

My phone rang last night but the ringer was off as I’d been in a networking event and it’s bad form to have your ringer on.  I missed a call I really hate that I missed.

Last night Prescott’s owner called.  I got the message this morning.  I thought “why is she calling at 10:30 at night…”  I listened to the message.  It went like this…”I’m so sorry to call you like this.  It’s Prescott.  He died.  He just died.  He was playing and then he died.”  I knew I missed my chance.  All I could have done is help her get his body to the vet last night, and maybe that would help me understand what happened.  But I didn’t get the chance.  He was gone as quickly as he came.  And with him, a piece of my heart.  His owner told me she would never be the same.  Neither will I.

That’s one of the last pictures I took of Prescott.  His mom had me and some other folks over for latkes and Christmas cookies.  Because that’s how we roll.

Prescott’s job was to be the calming influence for a horribly abused dog that his mom had adopted the previous year.  Her old male Charley had succumbed to cancer and she didn’t know who was going to be the guiding light for the horribly abused little girl dog.  Then Oakland called me about Prescott.

He was majestic.  I’ve never had a dog here that I didn’t want to neuter until Prescott got here.  I seriously considered getting him health tested, finishing him, re-test him and find him the perfect bitch.  No one caught the DCM.  It’s a hard one to catch.  There isn’t anything definitive unless it’s raging at the time of the test.  Or if the dog shows signs of illness.

Prescott was the only rescue that I let sleep in the bedroom.  The night I had him neutered he cried and cried and cried.  I assumed he was crying “My balls!  My balls!”.  I locked everyone else up in their crates and let Prescott sleep in the bedroom.  He slept like a baby.

He wasn’t here that long but just long enough to steal my heart.  That dog was a thief.

The lady who adopted him was older, she lived in Rossmoor and I always assumed that at some point she would have health issues and Prescott would come back to me.  He was a wonderful dog and I knew that I would make room for him because he was such a slice of awesome.

That day never came.  It evaporated last night.  She is understandably devastated and my heart is crushed.

Prescott, you burned bright.  I know you knew love.  You’re gone, and with you went a piece of my heart.  Godspeed little man.