When Truman Fell

Truman, my beloved cocker spaniel, was chasing the neighbour’s cat when my world first gave way.

Only moments earlier, he had been all swagger and silky ears, leaping at the backyard fence as if he owned the street. The neighbour’s cat, unimpressed, dropped down almost on top of him. Tru yelped, bolted through his doggie flap, and sent his water bowl skidding across the kitchen floor.

Typical male, confronted by an alluring foxy feline, I thought wryly.

“Tru, you’re a character! I’m off. See you this evening,” I said, patting him. “Go back to sleep.”

I was running late for the college, where my life had become fuller, busier, and more demanding than I had ever imagined. I had built that business from scratch and poured myself into it. Chris kept the home fires burning, often with Tru at his feet, waiting for my key in the door. I loved them both, but somewhere between ambition, exhaustion, and the next thing that needed doing, I had stopped noticing how much waiting they did.

That afternoon, I grabbed my car keys and remembered the sandwiches Chris had made for my lunch. I turned back for them, smiling at the small tenderness of it. When I opened the garage door, Roy, our neighbour and a paramedic, was trimming his hedge. Tru had followed me out, panting from his humiliating defeat.

“Tru, you silly sausage. That’ll teach you to try to get the better of a woman,” I said.

“No more feline chasing for the rest of the day. You can’t win, you know.”

Then Truman collapsed.

One second, he was beside me, ridiculous and beloved. Next, he was on the ground. Alarm rushed through me. I felt for his pulse and found it faint.

“Heart attack?” I said aloud, not realising I had spoken.

Roy’s voice startled me. “Dogs don’t usually have heart attacks. It could be a stroke or an epileptic fit,” he said. “Get him to the vet.”

Together, we lifted Tru carefully onto the back seat of my car. “Thanks, Roy. I’ll take him straight to Dr Payton. Please call Chris at work for me and send him to the vet.”

I burst through the front door of All Creatures Great and Small Veterinary Practice with a limp Tru in my arms. “Good morning, Mrs Roberts,” the startled young receptionist, Jenny, greeted me.

“Tru’s collapsed. He’s dying. Quick … oh, please!”

“Calm down, Mrs Roberts. We’ll attend to him immediately,” Jenny said, calling emergency over the intercom. A nurse and a young doctor appeared and took Truman away.

The waiting room blurred around me. People came and went with cats in carriers and dogs on leads. A woman beside me held a pet python in a glass case. “Slip has something stuck in his stomach,” she informed me. I nodded, but my mind was with Tru.

After what seemed like an eternity, Dr Payton emerged. “You’ll need to leave him with us for a while. He’s on a drip. A few moments later, and the dog might not have lived.”

“What happened? Truman was fine chasing a cat …”

Dr Payton rested a kindly hand on my shoulder. “I need to run some tests. Call me in about an hour.”

“I’d like to wait, Dr Payton.” I could not imagine leaving him. Truman was woven through the fabric of my days. I had said often, half joking and half not, “I love that dog more than anyone in the world.” In that moment, I knew how close to true it was.

Chris arrived soon after, pale and anxious. He tried to put an arm around me, but I shrugged him off. I could not bear comfort. I could only think of Tru.

When Dr Payton finally led us through, Tru was a forlorn little figure with a drip in his right leg. He looked lifeless. “Tru, my baby, my son,” I murmured as I kissed his face and stroked his velvet ears.

“He’s extremely sick indeed, Mrs Roberts. If you hadn’t got him here in time, he might not have lived,” Dr Payton said seriously.

“What’s the matter with my boy?” I asked.

“I need to run some more tests and an ultrasound. His calcium levels are high. Worst-case scenario: cancer. I’m sorry.”

“But he was chasing a cat this morning,” I said.

“These things come on without warning in dogs. They’re such happy, loving beings, and they never complain. Look at him now — not a whimper, though he’s in a great deal of pain.”

Silent tears rolled down my face. “My baby, I love you, please don’t die,” I whispered, kneeling beside him.

Dr Payton gently helped me to my feet. “You must go home now. He’s in good care. I’ll call you in the morning.”

“Can’t I take him home and bring him back tomorrow?” I begged.

“You can do as you please. He’s your dog, but I wouldn’t advise it.”

“We’ll leave him in your good hands, Dr Payton,” Chris said quietly. I kissed Tru once more before allowing Chris to guide me out of the surgery.

The next morning, Chris brought me tea and toast and opened the blinds to let in the light. I had barely slept. There was no Tru with his wet, cold nose to nudge me awake. The house felt wrong without him.

There was no need for me to go into the college. For once, the work I had built my life around could wait. I picked at my toast and wrapped both hands around the mug.

“Thank you,” I said. Only yesterday, Tru had been bouncing around full of life, tail wagging and long silky ears flying. Now he was lying at death’s door.

Life changes in an instant.

At the veterinary surgery, Chris and I met Dr Nanette, the radiologist. We sat on the edge of our seats, waiting for the verdict.

“I’m afraid the news isn’t good. Your dog, Truman, has cancer of the liver.

One large tumour, and the whole liver is shot to pieces. Bluntly, he has a matter of weeks to live, maybe a month.”

“No, no, it can’t be!” I cried.

Dr Nanette continued gently but firmly. “I’ll give you medication to ease the pain, and you can take him home. There’s nothing more we can do here. You’ll need to decide to give him his final injection soon.”

“Absolutely not!” I was distraught.

Chris thanked her because I could not speak. He led me to the waiting room, then collected Tru and carried him to the car, settling him on a blanket on the back seat. When he returned for me, I had not moved.

He guided me gently to the passenger seat and strapped me in like a child. Tears ran silently down my cheeks. Chris reached into his pocket and handed me the big white handkerchief he always carried. I accepted it gratefully and blew my nose loudly as we drove away.

Back home, Chris lit a roaring log fire and settled Tru in his basket. I sat beside him in my armchair, tucked beneath a blanket. My eyes were red and swollen, but I had no more tears to shed.

I thought I was fighting to save Truman. I did not yet know he was trying to save me — from the woman I had become without even noticing.

Looking back now, I can see that some of life’s greatest teachers arrive with four legs, muddy paws, and unconditional love. Truman’s illness forced me to stop long enough to notice what really mattered.

At the time, however, all I knew was that my beloved dog had been given a death sentence, and I was determined to find a way to save him.

A note for readers:

Some of you may be wondering what happened next.

Truman’s illness set in motion a journey far bigger than I could have imagined that day. In my desperate search to save him, I found myself revisiting a chapter of my past that would ultimately teach me unexpected lessons about love, loss, forgiveness, and the blessings that had been beside me all along.

The full story has already been told in my three-part series, Crossroads of the Heart. If you would like to continue the journey immediately, you can read it here:

Part 1 — Crossroads of the Heart

Part 2 — Crossroads of the Heart

Part 3 — Crossroads of the Heart

Finalé — Crossroads of the Heart

For everyone following The Long Road of Love memoir, the story ends here, but Chris’s and my journey go on down the road of our twilight years.

Thank you for reading, dear friends ღ.

© Stephanie Roberts