We left before the sun came up and got home after it had slipped behind the mountains.

Fifteen hours for one menopausal mama and one introverted farm dog -both of whom who would probably prefer to spend the remainder of their days never leaving the farm- well, it’s a trek, and a really big deal, and an hour into the drive of our long day when he started breathing funny, I near turned my rig around to bring us both and back to the ranch.

Maybe it was a mistake loading him up and asking him to ride in the middle row of my rig for four hours one way through the mountains.

I’d laid out his special blanket across the seats, and my daughter had conveniently left a large wad of hay in the cargo area from the night before when she’d borrowed Mom’s SUV to haul her ram to a hot date with his new girlfriends.

Even surrounded by familiar smells of home, when his gums and tongue turned ashy, and his brown eyes searched mine questioningly as his breaths from the sweet, big white head propped tiredly on the backside of the passenger seat became short and shallow, I doubted my decision to take him to the big city docs and wondered through streaming tears what exactly my plan was should he die in my backseat while I traveled the empty, dark, mountainous, two-lane highway.

He pepped up when we stopped at the last gas station, and he peed long when I let him walk in the grass, and the two of us bravely navigated the big city and all its noises and loud cars right as the sun crested the mountain tops.

The sweet and precious vet with eyes that smiled at him and cried with me was an answer to the prayer i had hoping for a compassionate person who was knowledgeable and found quick and definitive answers to what was ailing our sweet boy.

She gave him tests and then she told me what I already knew:

His heart is too big.

This dog, this wonderful and beautiful gentle-hearted servant who loves me with every ounce of him, trusting me unflinchingly even after the confusion of being left at the shelter by the family he first served, even with all of his quirky insecurities and fears of the ceiling fan, and wayward balloons, and tall boys with long hair that carry guns…his heart is huge and he loves this farm and this family steady and there is no where he’d rather be than resting his soft head gently on the knee of one of his people or curled up in the cool of mom’s corner bathroom closet where he can nap and watch his people through his dozing.

Physically, his heart is not constricting properly, causing it to expand in volume and stay enlarged, quivering around in his barrel chest trying to do what hearts do, stay in rhythm.

Dilated Cardiomyopathy (DCM) affects specific breeds as well as large and giant breeds of dogs. Had we known prior to him being symptomatic, there is a fairly positive prognosis that dogs can be treated and live years. That he was symptomatic though means he is in congestive heart failure, and the only treatment method is to keep the fluid off his heart and lungs, and medicate the heart in the hopes to help it work more efficiently.

So here we are again, our fifth dog in the thirty years of our life together that we will be loving on up to the end of their life, giving them the good love of a family as we keep our canine comfortable and cared for.

I’ve chosen a spot on the barnyard where I’ll have the fellas dig his grave before it gets too cold, and we’ve got a whole new medication routine to incorporate into his daily life. The wild salmon from my wild boy is keeping him eating each day, and now that we know exactly what is happening inside of him, we know what to watch for and how best to care for him.

Our sweet new veterinarian friend gave him a mild sedative for his long trip home, and after two hours into our return trek, he finally laid down and closed his eyes for some rest, knowing somehow that we were going back to the farm.

On our big adventure he visited a dog park at the vet’s office; he saw one of his favorite girls in the big city for a quick pit stop, he got to pee in the same grass twice at a busy gas station, and he met some of the most top notch professionals who gave us some solid answers and who are helping us to stay in rhythm with him while we do the same for his heart.

It wasn’t the best news we could have hoped for, but as I came home last night I thanked the LORD for letting me bring my dog home: Back then, those four years ago when we were called about this weird, strange breed at the shelter -the same breed I had been researching all winter the year our Annie died- this huge white dog who needed a new farm to guard; and then again yesterday, after the long trip up took so much of him and left me doubting myself and my decision to take him.

Just like I knew the minute I met him at the shelter that I was making the right decision to bring him home, I knew yesterday as we snaked back through the mountains with the sun casting a golden glow on each hillside that I had made the right choice to seek out answers, and I am so thankful to have some.

This is easier than cancer in some ways – the mass that was showing on the x-rays was actually fluid buildup, and while fluid is easy to take off, the outcome to both is the same.

We will one day soon have to say goodbye to our big white servant.

We will nurse him and love him and help him stay in rhythm, and one day soon we will lay him to rest here on the farm he so loves.

But until then, we will give him everything we can for him to fight each day, and we will love him.

Him and his big heart.