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My Best Friend by Sheila Ortman
When I was growing up, I never really knew what a true friend was. Because my father was in the Air Force, we moved every two to three years. I was somewhat of an introvert and didn't make friends easily. When I did make a friend, I was careful not to get too close for I knew that eventually I would have to move and the pain would be crippling. There had always been a longing in my heart for a true friend, someone I could confide in and never have to worry about a breach in confidence. That's all I would ask of a friend not realizing that there is much more to friendship than being able to talk to someone in confidence. I didn't have the honor of knowing true friendship, however, until I was twenty six. Scotty was only six weeks old when I first met him, so handsome, perfect features for one so young with silky black, wavy hair, eyes a soft inviting shade of brown, eyebrows perched in such a way as to make me wonder what he could possibly be thinking. He took to me right away, wanting me to hold him close and stroke his head for what seemed like hours on end. Watching Scotty mature I would often think of the song, "Watching Scotty Grow." Shortly after Scotty turned three, his surrogate mother passed away; he wouldn't eat a bite or drink a drop of water. By the third day after her passing I felt so helpless, trying everything I could think of except talking about what had happened. While talking to him I stroked his head endlessly with the hope of gaining his confidence and trust. With the onset of tears I realized how much he missed her and that I could never take her place but would do my best. He missed her more than life itself, a feeling I knew well. This was a thread, a binding of souls, a relationship that would last for years, if only he would let me help him. Finally, by the end of that third day, I was able to coax him into eating a small amount of food. It wasn't long before he was following me everywhere. Every time I would open a car door to go somewhere, he would scurry into the seat next to me knowing he didn't have to ask if he could go with me. Taking this as a sign of trust, I felt that I was now his mother and protector. Sometimes I talked endlessly to him about anything and everything knowing that he would never tell a soul what he had heard. Before long, he wouldn't let a stranger get too close to me when we went on our daily walks, staring at the stranger and making a low yet soft grumbling sound, the hair on his neck would stand up as a warning that he was serious. Needless to say, the stranger would walk or jog on the opposite side of the street. He always felt that he needed to protect me. (I think he knew how insecure I felt around strangers.) Scotty always seemed to know when I didn't feel well or was sad. It was as if he had ESP. While sitting next to me, he would nudge me to get my attention. He'd arch his eyebrows and move his head side to side as if to say, "Now, Now! What is the problem? Dr. Scotty at your service." Sometimes he would just give me a sweet little kiss to let me know that he loved me. He always seemed to know just the right thing to do to make me happy. That binding of souls had taken place; he was now my most trusted friend, confidant, and protector. Time passed so quickly, and soon Scotty, who was almost thirteen, was having difficulty walking, barely able to get up on his legs due to the excruciating pain he felt with each movement. There was a tumor in his right thigh growing at a rapid rate. Within three months time the tumor went from the size of a pea to the size of a softball. Dr. Kaiser, our veterinarian, said there was no hope for my best friend's recovery, even if he had surgery to remove the tumor. The realization that my friend would soon be leaving me was excruciating. My heart was sad and felt as if it were being ripped apart, but I needed to let him know the inevitable. It was best that I, his surrogate mother, talk to him about his delicate condition. "Scotty old friend, I think it's time to end your pain. The pills no longer seem to be working. I called your doctor today and as soon as your daddy gets home we will go to see the doctor. It's your time, dear friend, time to be with your maker and soon the pain will be gone forever." (Who was I trying to convince? Him or me? ME!) When my husband arrived home from work on that fateful afternoon, we drove Scotty to the doctor's office. He was waiting for us and immediately directed us to a room where we were to lay Scotty on the examining table. Upon examining him, Dr. Kaiser spoke to us in a solemn, yet warm and caring voice, informing us of Scotty's condition, then explaining what was to take place. "He has a fever and the tumor feels as though it could burst at any time. This shot will slow his heart rate considerably but will not stop it. I will give him the final shot after you leave, but if you would like to stay with him until he falls asleep it will be a great comfort to him," replied Dr. Kaiser. My husband said his quick good-byes trying to control the tears forming in his eyes and left me alone with Scotty. "Scotty, I love you and will never forget you. God bless you, my friend." I silently cried as I stood there beside the table. The tears flowed freely for the one friend I could truly trust. Staying until he fell asleep I reassured him that I was there by stroking his head and softly speaking to him all the while. He always loved having his head stroked. Soon he was barely breathing and Dr. Kaiser came in to check on him. "It's time to go now," replied Dr. Kaiser. Tears flowing like a waterfall, I left the room as silently as possible so he wouldn't know that I had left. My husband was waiting outside the door arms outstretched with a sad; forsaken look in his eyes. "Are you all right?" Asked my husband. There was a cold, unwavering silence. I didn't know how to answer this question, at least not at this time. All I could say was, "Russ! There will never be another dog like Scotty." "NEVER."
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Revised November 02, 2001
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