Today’s youth would be completely ignorant of the meaning of a walkman, landline phone, or VHS cassette. Growing up in the era of rapid technological advancement, it has been amazing to witness how everyday household items that have been in use for years can suddenly become outdated.
I’ll admit that I had no idea what the object below was until I saw a photo of it. Beyond that, I had no idea what kind of metal tool it was. Can you identify and recollect this object?
See anything familiar? It’s a vintage oil can opener nozzle! This object appears archaic, yet it is actually rather modern, having been created in the 1980s. The spout portion of the can was used to pour oil back then, and people would use the tool to punch a hole in the top of the can. Despite having a really straightforward design, this thing is quite brilliant.
The 1980s seem like they were only yesterday to me. The 1980s seem like a lifetime ago—more than 40 years ago! Even though these openers aren’t used very often these days, I’ll wager that a lot of folks still keep one hidden in their garage among the equipment. Of course, many collect them, mechanics in particular! Therefore, it might not be a bad idea to pick up one of these cool little devices if you ever find one at an antique store or yard sale.
Buffy’s Journey Home
The morning had started like any other, tinged with the usual mix of hope and mild anxiety that came with an aging pet’s vet visit. Buffy, our sweet, silver-faced girl, was scheduled for a routine dental cleaning. We expected her to come home a little groggy, maybe missing a tooth or two, but otherwise, our same old Buffy.
But Dr. Mac, with her quiet wisdom and deep understanding of the creatures in her care, had a feeling. Before the anesthesia, she looked closer at Buffy’s recent lab work. The call came later that morning, a gentle voice delivering news that felt like a physical blow. Advanced kidney failure. Anesthesia was too risky; it could push her fragile system past the point of no return.
Suddenly, the simple dental cleaning faded into insignificance. A new, heartbreaking reality settled in. We looked at Buffy, still wagging her tail when we spoke her name, still nudging our hands for pets, and knew what we had to do. The kindest, most loving act was to let her go now, surrounded by love, before the illness stole her joy and her will to live. We couldn’t bear the thought of her suffering, losing her appetite, her spark dimming day by day.
My first thought was Robbie. He adored Buffy, and she him. This decision, this final act of love, had to include him. I left immediately to pick him up from school. The car ride felt heavy, the usual chatter replaced by the quiet hum of the engine and the weight of what was to come.
Gathering my courage, I explained to him, as gently and honestly as I could, that Buffy was very sick, that her body was tired, and that we needed to help her find peace. I told him she wouldn’t be coming home with us this time.
His eyes filled, but his voice was steady. “I want to hold her,” he said, his small voice firm. “I want to be the one holding her when she goes to heaven.”
My heart swelled with a painful mix of sorrow and profound pride. Of course. There was no one else I would rather give that honor to.
We drove home, the quiet returning, but now filled with a different kind of understanding. I looked at him, this young boy carrying such a heavy truth with such grace. “Robbie,” I started, my voice thick with emotion, “I am so incredibly proud of you. Proud that you understand how important it is to take care of our old animals, and that helping them means making sure they never, ever suffer.”
He just nodded, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the windshield, already preparing himself for the difficult task ahead, for the final, loving embrace he would share with his dear friend Buffy as she journeyed home. And in that quiet moment, I knew that while our hearts were breaking, we were navigating this pain together, grounded in the deepest kind of love and compassion.
Leave a Reply