While puttering down the Industrial Highway in his vintage 2030 Continental Roadster, it suddenly occurred to Clint that he had gotten Ranger, his mutt, exactly eight years ago on this very day. It was June 11, 2058, when he spotted the trembling animal on the side of the road, yet another innocent victim of the AmeriTech War.
The dog was wheezing, it appeared to be suffering from conjunctivitis, and its hair was matted and dirty.
Clint could relate.
He tended to wheeze and his eyes were constantly itchy, too. Plus, what hair he had left was wiry and unruly, and at 72 his old man aches and pains were, well, extremely achy and quite painful. But the dog needed a home, Clint had one to share, and the two bonded quickly.
Some TLC – and a special ointment courtesy of a veterinarian friend – took care of the doggo’s eye issues, and a warm bath in an oversized tub (along with slow, careful combing) revealed a relatively healthy, brown coat.
While drying off the furball, Clint came up with the name “Ranger,” mainly because it reminded him of an ice hockey team he cheered for during the bygone era of professional sports. And besides, “Ranger” is just a damn good dog name.
Man and beast became inseparable, and Clint wanted to make sure Ranger was happy. Over the first few years, there was nothing the critter enjoyed more than a furious, flared-nostril run through a grassy field, followed by a half can of wet food. More recently, though, it was a leisurely ride in a wheeled transport that made him the happiest.
It was especially enjoyable these days because the war was over, the Mammonicans had been driven from power, and Clint no longer had to worry about being stopped by renegade patrols demanding passage tax.
And there was no one to make him present his Animal Ownership License and submit Ranger to a painful distemper shot.
Many of the old houses and office buildings had been destroyed in the decades-long conflict, but the skies were again clear and the countryside greener – and showing signs of new growth. Better yet, while much had changed throughout the years, a dog hanging its head out of the window and smiling into the wind was not one of them.
It was good for the dog’s health and good for the old man’s soul.
But Clint was now 80, and he had no idea how old Ranger was. The dog had turned white around the eyes and mouth, and Clint liked to think he and his best friend were roughly the same age, body-wise.
Clint had noticed over the past year that both his and Ranger’s naps were longer, and each day it seemed more difficult to rise from the comfort of a well-worn bed. He just wasn’t sure how much longer he could take care of his buddy.
Sadly, he realized their time together was coming to a close.
It never seemed fair, ending a friendship with an IV injection. Sometimes it seemed like the right thing to do, and the humane choice. But then moments later he’d find himself throwing a ragged old toy at Ranger, who’d grab it, shake it vigorously, and sometimes even bring it back to Clint in hopes of another throw-and-catch.
Earlier that morning, however, Clint packed the toys away in a wicker storage bin and loaded them into the Continental Roadster.
The ride would be their last together, and as Clint pulled into the parking spot, he leaned over, gave Ranger a big kiss on the head and said, “I love you, buddy.”
He lifted the bin out of the back seat and placed it on the sidewalk next to the car. Moments later, a vehicle pulled up next to him.
“You must be Clint,” said the slightly built woman. “I’m Sarah … you called about Ranger.”
“Oh, yes,” Clint said, forcing a weak smile. “I have all his papers and toys in this box. He’s a good dog … a real good dog.”
Sarah opened the door, put a leash around Ranger’s neck, and gently rubbed his head.
“Hey there, buddy,” she said. “We’re gonna go to your new home now.”
Clint was caught off guard as the woman – now teary-eyed – gave him a hug.
“You gave him a great life,” she said. “And I’ll give him one, too. I want you know that.”
Clint nodded.
“I know you will,” he said. “And he deserves it, because he made my life great, too. Anyway, goodbye Sarah … and take care of my boy.”
Clint gave his dog one last look, and then headed toward the entrance of the Kevorkian/Quill Clinic.
