The drive back to Winnipeg is one of my favourite roadtrips for equal parts nostalgia and recreation. Scenically, I feel the landscape is under-appreciated. Consisting of endless plains contrasted with the biggest, most vibrant skies you’ve ever seen, it is accurate to the joke that you can see your dog running away for several days (especially the section of Highway 1 from Indian Head to Whitewood)… but it’s also so much more. There is a vitality that might be missed by those just passing through on their way to the next major centre. There also isn’t too much traffic, so it becomes PEAK car karaoke time.
It takes me roughly eight hours to return home (or 120 songs on a carefully-crafted playlist). This is with absolute minimal fuel/food/washroom pitstops. By the time I get to my mom’s house, I am exhausted. Normally I arrive, I eat, I play with the dog and then I crash. This return though was slightly different. My mom and dog were very happy to see me but wee Monty was also sick. I did have concern; at almost 12-years-old, Monty is a senior pet and he has had health issues in the past. I tried to hide my distress though as my mother’s anxiety was already kicking in. He has been her “unofficial” therapy dog since 2014.
I stayed up all night with my little guy and got to thinking about what his companionship has meant to me. When I moved to Saskatoon, I had no idea what to expect. I had never even travelled to the city before. I knew loneliness—and perhaps worse—would creep in if I wasn’t proactive in terms of directing my energy. So within two weeks, I adopted him. It proved to be one of the best damn decisions of my life! Monty got me out of my apartment, exercising and interacting with my new community.
Our shared existence has had many milestones symbolizing the brevity of time. From that initial move to buying my first home, from losing my father to now taking care of my elderly mother, Monty’s presence over the past decade has provided a spark of happiness even in the most bleak of situations. It is not an exaggeration to say he owns my heart and I’m not yet ready to think about what my days will look like without him by my side. Of course, there are other dogs. Of course, I will welcome one into my home and spoil them rotten. But I don’t believe any other dog could share the connection Monty and I do. He’s a special guy.
By morning, as dusk broke into dawn, I got us both prepared to visit the vet. Bracing for the worst but hoping for the best, I tried to keep positive.
There is much to be said about allowing hope to shape one’s future.
There is also much to be said about listening to a trained medical professional inform you that your dog isn’t dying. He just ate something that didn’t agree with him. One shot and two prescribed medications would cure him.
I’m happy to report Monty was feeling better within 48 hours.
