It's Just A Dog

“It’s just a dog.”  That’s what she said.  That was her first offense.  Her second offense was saying it to someone who had had to put down her two Rottweilers within about a year of each other.  Actually what she really said was, “It’s just a fucking dog.” Which only served to redouble the offense.  This was part of a friend to friend conversation. 

After ACL surgery

Tripod

That’s odd - I’m dreaming about a braying donkey.  A few moments of confusion when I came out of that deep sleep and the donkey hadn’t gone away.  Geeze, it’s my dog and that’s not a dream.  Rainey had rolled over onto the site where her leg had once been and was screaming in pain.  I got up and helped her to sit up.  She whimpered and quivered while I rubbed her head and held her.  Once calm I made sure that she laid down so that she wouldn’t roll onto the wound again.  Back in bed I wondered, ‘Did we do the right thing?’  I glanced down and she was already back to sleep and once I calmed myself down I reasoned that this is going to be one of multiple challenges for the next 10 days or so.  ‘Don’t get hasty with doubts.’

It's Not My Time Dad

I’m not an overly spiritual kinda guy.  I pray, though not religiously – so to speak.  That is to say I don’t pray nearly as much as the wife but more than my daughter – who doesn’t pray at all (so I guess that would be damning myself with faint praise).  When it comes to praying I can’t hold a votive candle to the wife. In my own spiritual defense though I do pray for things more substantive than the elusive winning lottery ticket or the local nine going to the World Series.  And while my devotion is often fleeting there are those times when I’m given pause to consider that there may be some sort of providence at work.  But providence does have to hit me in the face – hard.

My Buddy, My Friend

You're my buddy, my pal, my friend

It will be that way until the end

“How do you know when it’s time?” I’d asked the vet a couple weeks ago.  “Well, she’ll have good days and she’ll have bad days .  You’ll learn to recognize those and then when she has more bad than good then you need to start considering putting her to sleep.”

Good days and bad.  Last Saturday (a week ago) was a very bad day.  Late in the evening I literally thought that she was dying.  The next morning when I got home from a morning run she looked at me with bright eyes; alert and inquisitive.  “Welcome home, where have you been?  Running without me?” she seemed to ask.  Sunday was pretty good.  Sunday was also the day that I decided to pull out two little left over bunk bed mattresses.  I laid them one on top of the other next to her dog bed and spent the night in my sleeping bag.  When she seemed a little restless I reached over and stroked her head.  That was in the little downstairs “computer room.”