Home » Daily Grind » Brooding, Adapting

Brooding, Adapting

I’m spending Monday mornings getting subscription and Haggard Feathers stuff ready for the week–mostly just editing and scheduling, since I’m trying to work so far ahead.

The “far ahead” part isn’t working, but the “work” part is definitely happening. So much so I feel like I’m running in circles with my hair afire, but even more than usual.

Miss B’s health isn’t doing so good. She is an elderly statesdog by now, and has very definite ideas about what Should and Shouldn’t Happen. Which isn’t a problem, gods know everything in this damn house has an opinion and never hesitates to voice it, including inanimate objects. (You guys should hear Shirley the Penguin bitch. Fishbreath and Fury, that’s her.) But her eyesight is going, she’s cranky, and there’s some arthritis going on too. Each new sign of her bodily systems slipping is, I suspect, more upsetting to me than her.

She’s a Zen creature of the Now, my dog, but I am looking forward to the moment I lose her and it’s not a comfortable thought. I always expected to lose Odd Trundles; every day with him was a gift. Every day with B is a likewise gift, though there’s a bitter undercurrent now that I realize just how little time we might have left. It’s going to devastate me when she has to go.

Cheerful thoughts on a Monday, huh? I know the world is on fire, I’ve adapted to Stay At Home and Wear Masks in Public, but what I’m really brooding about is my dog’s health and how wrenching it will be when she’s too tired and has to go.

I could be selfish, of course. I could focus on extending time, completely disregarding quality-of-life. But that would be a betrayal, even though she wouldn’t blame me.

Sometimes I hate being the one in charge. It means I can arrange things to suit myself, mostly, but the price is steep. Some days, it’s nothing but the price.

At least I have the gift of knowing. Meaning I can focus on making the end of her time with us, however long that takes, as comfortable as possible. She’s more than earned it. I suppose when it comes Boxnoggin will be the most inconsolable, since I suspect he’s managed to forget there was ever anything other than our chez, our family, and the playmate who chose him out of all the other dogs at the shelter. He’s going to need a lot of cuddling when it happens, and go figure, I will too.

But until then, life continues as usual, only with a few small additions for Miss B’s comfort. And I never miss a chance to tell either dog how good, how beautiful, how wonderful they are.

I’m bracing for the inevitable in more ways than one. And, to top it all off, it’s a Monday.

The world keeps on turning, like the moving finger on the wall. Best to take a deep breath and focus on what must be done now. Brooding over the future, while a fun party game and necessary in some amounts, threatens to vapor-lock me today.

Head down, machete out, boots on. Onward and upward. And all that.

2 thoughts on “Brooding, Adapting”

  1. I have been in your shoes and it was agony. We had 2 a year apart in age and obtaining from a shelter. No warning they just crashed. We went 10 years or more without them and I now have adopted another. I was the first one in the door at the shelter, 1st one to his kennel, his first day there. He had been with them in another city for 6 mos and moved hoping. Love at first sight. I hugged him and his eyes closed in bliss. He is very needy like me, a perfect pair. Went there for a small female that would need clipping. Got 52 lb male shorthanded. Opposite. He is so sweet. He is my service dog and everyone says he is well suited.

  2. Totally understand. It totally sucks being the responsible one, especially when it comes to the four-legged children.

    I swore I was never getting another one after Mr. D’s sudden, unexpected kidney failure four years ago.

    But then, I met my own Miss B, and she reminded me the cycle is normal and no one can avoid it, so one needs to rejoice in tummy rubs, Swiss cheese and walks while one can.

Comments are closed.