That Dog Won't Hunt Again

Update on my poor dog's situation. Again, the problem is with her back. Some kind of arthritic formations are compacting her vertebrae and, well, crippling her. Word, though, is she's improving. Much perkier today. Eating, which is a good sign. She can actually walk around although she's unsteady, her big problem is transitioning between standing and sitting. Just can't do it on her own so she needs someone to prop her up or lay her down. And she needs to be carried outside to do...you know...doggie business. So, not good but better than yesterday and fingers firmly crossed that she'll continue to recover.

But, really, the sad thing is that she might get better but she's not going to grow any younger. She's an old girl now. Fifteen years old. And while this might not be the ailment that takes her out, she's on her way towards the door. This weekend. Next week. Next month. Next year. Some time. Some day. She's not going to be alive anymore.

I'd like to think I wouldn't be taking it so hard if I hadn't just gone through the same thing with my cat earlier in the year. But, truth is, I probably still would. I guess I've been lucky. Haven't lost many relatives. Haven't lost many pets. Haven't had to think these thoughts and feel these feelings. But, now, I have very little way of dealing with them.

And I really wish I did because it's hard to see my dog like this. Old. Slowed. Her body betraying her. Her limbs shaking as she tries to walk step after trembling step. This was a dog who could race greyhounds. Who'd chase after the wind. Tearing around the backyard until she was a blur circling around you. Crashing through underbrush and branches with wide-eyed glee. A dog who'd bowl you over by leaping at you to welcome you home. She'd tip over furniture bouncing around the room chasing after a ball, a squeaky toy, a flashing running along the wall. I can't count the number of times she nearly yanked my arm off as I desperately clung to her leash on a walk.

She was just so...full of life. And now...? Her eyes are cloudy. Her fur is faded like an old painting. And, worst of all, she's so slow. And I've watched, over the years, as the vitality's slowly drained from her. Like her life being gently carried away by the falling grains of sand. It feels as though I've been losing her in pieces for a long time now.

I don't know. I honestly don't know what to do here. It's life. Growing old, it's a part of it. Stopping, well, that's part of it, too. And the world's still turning. It goes on. I will, too. In time.

But, yeah, at the moment, not feeling so good.