Baby Won’t Die
Arcadia, OK | July, 2020
The day we arrived at our Airbnb, our Host welcomed us teary-eyed. “Sorry I’m not more talkative, we’re putting my wife’s Baby down tomorrow.” Baby is a French bulldog with rusty stripes and a hemorrhaging asshole. Immediately after pulling up to the property and introducing ourselves, we learned that Baby has a cancerous tumor in her urethra that makes urinating and pooping near impossible. This was explained to us before receiving the keys to the Airbnb. Austin and I offered our condolences and carried our belongings into the guest house off Route 66.
We had temporarily moved up to Oklahoma from Texas to work on a feature film together. Austin was the Production Coordinator and I was the Assistant Production Coordinator. It was the first time in our careers in film where we were in the same office during the same hours, which was so exciting for us as fiancées. I was struggling with my recent endometriosis diagnosis but knew we needed the money and that this was a rare opportunity to work as a team. I would excuse myself to the bathroom when the pelvic pain would well up like a tsunami, collect myself and then put on a strong face for Austin in the office.
While I was working on the front yard porch a week or so later, Baby came waddling out of the house. She assumed the shitting position in front of me and let out a series of loud, painful farts while looking me dead in the eye. It was unsettling, carnal, like Baby wanted me to see and know her pain. After a few more grunts, the Host came around the corner of the guest house looking for Baby. “Those were some great dog farts,” I playfully chimed to the Host, trying to lighten the mood. Using his hands for vivid visualization, he then demonstrated the exact placement of the tumor inside of Baby’s urethra. All the while, Baby strained to push a soft turd out of her prevalent asshole. “Any day now,” the Host sighed, “My wife just can’t seem to part with her.”
The following weekend, Baby returned to the yard in front of our guest house, once again locking eyes with me as Austin and I had a drink on the porch. The Host followed shortly after, apologized and picked her up mid-poop effort saying, “Let’s go finish this in the backyard. It’ll take a while.” While holding her under his arm like a football, he told us that they were trying to soak up their last Sunday afternoon with Baby. It had been decided, they were taking her to the vet in the morning to be put out of her misery. Austin and I both offered support and empathy and felt a sense of relief for Baby. She had so much pain in her little eyes, so much pain in her enormous asshole.
A few days passed. On yard maintenance day for the Host and his Wife, Baby waddled behind them, often stopping to try to relieve the constant internal pressure she felt on her bladder. She clearly loved her owners, so much that she still wanted to partake in their usual yard care routine despite being in so much discomfort. I felt sad for Baby. I wouldn’t want to have, as the Host explained, a “golf ball of cancerous cells” blocking my urethra. I also wouldn’t want my family to allow me to suffer if there were an option of relief. I felt sad for the Host and his Wife. I had chatted with the Wife earlier that week and we bonded over endometriosis. She had a total hysterectomy a few years ago to relieve her decades long pain from uterine endometriosis. Raising Baby had been a huge emotional support while grieving the loss of the ability to have more children. Their sons are grown and living their own lives in different cities, visiting when they can but no longer as present in their family home. I wouldn't want to put down the dog that got me through a major trauma without trying everything I could to keep them alive. It makes sense why it’s so hard to let go of her Baby.
The following week, I was on a FaceTime call with my boss from the front porch. Without warning, Baby appeared and hopped onto my lap. Baby looked me in the eye, panting and adorable. I saw her for the little baby she was to her family. Meanwhile, her protruding anus had a hanging dingleberry of poop, which transferred to my velvet skirt. My boss asked “Do you know that dog?” I knew her so well that I knew her inner workings, I knew she had survived another day, I knew what her poop looked like on my clothing. We ended our call and the Wife came looking for her Baby. When I asked her how Baby was holding up, she said that the vet prescribed a new medicine to help her poop easier. “I’ve found that pushing on Baby’s anus helps drain the urine, cause the cancer is getting so big, her anus is getting in the way of her peeing. She was sitting out here for 15 minutes huffing the other day. When I pushed my two fingers down on her anus, she was able to poop real quick.” I looked down at Baby and back up at the Wife. Deep down, I knew that Baby wasn’t going anytime soon. She had an owner who loved her so much she helped her manually shit, so no, I didn't see them putting Baby down just yet. I saw a woman who loved an animal so much that she was willing to get feces on her hands just to have some extra time with them. I saw it all and understood.
After three months of living in their guest house, Austin and I packed our belongings and headed home for Texas. As we pulled out of the driveway, the Host and his Wife waved goodbye with Baby behind them, trying to push poop out past her cancerous tumor. I wished Baby the best, knowing her final days were going to be spent having her asshole squeezed by the person she loved most.