It’s o’God-thirty, Monday, August 8, 2005, and time to roll out of bed on the island for the very last time.
Everything that could be pre-packed into boxes has been packed. What’s left are the beds, the major furniture, things that won’t fit into boxes, and stuff that is going in the Avalanche, the 12-foot trailer, or the Blazer.
Cousin Jim (another of Bev’s cousins) has arrived and is on hand to help with the final packing and the drive to Utah.
The closings are “in progress”. Paperwork has been “Fed-Exing” back and forth for a few days. Powers of attorney are all in place. Hopefully, there are no kinks in the process. The plan is simple. Get to the mainland. Sign off on the Ohio property. Get to Utah. Close on the Utah property. Fed-Ex papers to Mom as necessary for her signature.
The truck arrived as scheduled along with the moving crew. No time for breakfast or that last leisurely cup of fresh-ground coffee. Fortunately one of the pizza places on the island opened early… Pizza for brunch, on the fly!
By the appointed time, everything was loaded, final good-byes were said, and the ever-on computer was shut down and loaded into the the trailer. From here on, it was “Utah or bust!”
But wait… where was Bree? The dog that was so sick, and all undone about the move?
Cindy and Bev launched a search. There she was… under the house. Uh-oh… this isn’t good.
Well, Cindy took matters into her own hands, crawled under the house, and coaxed Bree out. With just minutes to spare, they raced to the ferry dock one last time to fill their pre-reserved slots on the last ferry of the day from the island.
They’d have about 30 minutes to get to the vet to pick up all the health certificates and have Bree checked out again. She was in worse shape than before and Cindy was really concerned about her.
Unfortunately, the vet didn’t have good news. She had at least one large internal tumor, and wasn’t really getting enough oxygen, as her tongue was blue. The prognosis wasn’t good. She may or may not make the full journey, let alone recover.
You see, the trip route would take the convoy to over 11,000 feet elevation. After some real quick thought and prayer, the decision was to have her make the journey across “The Rainbow Bridge”.
At least she wouldn’t continue to suffer. Bree, we’ll miss ya’. You’re in a better place now.
Sad task done, health certificates in hand, it was time to point the convoy to the next stop… Dad’s farm (barn) where they’d been stashing even more stuff for the past six months.Pin It