Archieved Articles

Marshall’s Last Days

By Lorraine Cannistra

It was a Sunday night and my stomach churned with nerves, as my mind raced with last minute details. T-shirts, jeans, business casual outfits for the interviews…Would I remember everything, would I mess up my answers to the questions? I get flustered when I travel. A cup of hot tea and a good book were more my speed for a Sunday night, but on this one I was packing to go to a pageant, where I would participate in events with other state title holders from around the country. All of us hoping to become the next Ms. Wheelchair America.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Marshall, my yellow lab service dog start to go through his ritual of stretching his entire body every time he awoke from a nap. First the front legs…then he stopped. The look in his eye told me something was wrong, but at first, I didn’t pay attention.

“Marshall,” I said, “Hey buddy! Good news! The place that altered my dress for the crowning ceremony was able to use the extra material and make you a bow tie. So, we’ll match. Won’t that be fun? You’ll be even cuter that night then you are routinely.”

He sighed. I smiled. I knew he didn’t exactly understand my words, but after almost nine years of being my service dog, he knew that if he did what I wanted, it would probably be worth his while in terms of Milk Bones.

“Come here and let’s make sure that it fits.”

His whine about ten seconds later made me stop short and look at him. The butterflies in my stomach dropped like lead. In that instant I realized that Marshall had tried to get up to come over to my wheelchair, and couldn’t put weight on his back legs.

“What’s wrong buddy? Are you stiff? Even as I said the words I knew that I was grasping at straws. There are those moments, those times in life when I feel completely helpless and utterly desperate, when I want anything in the world to be true except the reality that is in front of me. This was one of them.

Marshall had been plagued with health problems for as long as I’d owned him. The school where I’d gotten him from even sent him home with cancer. He’d had numerous surgeries, taken lots of medication and had special needs as he’d gotten older. He had come through it all like a champ, and I’d never been as scared as I was then.

Slowly, I went over to him. Reaching down, I pet his head as he nuzzled against my knee. His eyes were full of confusion and disappointment. He could not do what I had asked of him. It was a situation that had never happened before. I held him against me for a very long time. I didn’t want to let go.

After a while, I called our vet’s office. Dr. Tom had known us from the beginning, and truly understood the bond that Marshall and I shared. He had cleared Marshall to travel to the pageant only four days previously.

That night, Dr. Tom was not on call. The answer I got from other staff members was to bring Marshall in the next day. It was the same day I was supposed to leave for the pageant. And so began one of the longest nights of my life.

I sat with Marshall and talked to him softly. I could only hope that my words were a comfort to him, and that he wasn’t in pain. We talked about the memories that we shared, and how he had made so many people happy. My tears made him cry, but he slept on and off. With an extra dose of arthritis medication, he was fairly comfortable.

I, on the other hand, didn’t sleep a wink. I had to decide if I would stay with Marshall, or if I would go to my pageant as planned. The decision was not as easy as it sounds on the surface. Ms. Wheelchair America rules say that once a woman holds a title in one state, she can never do so again, even if she moves elsewhere. In other words, this national pageant that I was supposed to be attending was a once in a lifetime opportunity. No matter what my circumstances were, I could never attend again.

Further, many people had donated lots of money so that I could attend this pageant. I felt that I had a responsibility to them to go and represent the state in the best way that I could. Although both of those things were important, the deciding factor in making my trip was that I knew in my heart Marshall would want me to go. He wouldn’t want me to watch him decline. Being strong for me was more his style. Going against every maternal instinct that I had, I gave him a kiss and boarded the plane.

The pageant was a flurry of activity, where I met phenomenal people and had amazing experiences, but my heart was never far from home. I called Dr. Tom a couple times a day, always receiving the assurance that more tests were being done. Marshall missed me, he said, but was otherwise okay. Dr. Tom knew what I needed to hear.

I came home. I saw Marshall. His eyes told me it was time. He didn’t have it in him to fight anymore. Tests confirmed he was full of tumors, and there was very little anyone could do. One last time, I approached him, and he nuzzled my knee while I pet him. “I’ll be okay, buddy, you made me strong enough to handle this. I love you more than I can ever let you know.” I left the vet’s office knowing I would never see him again.

My heart though, remains full of Marshall. No matter where I go in life, that won’t ever change.