I ran out of dog food today, and took two buses to a shop that carries the good dog food. Walking around in the store looking for the food, I started to cry again. I don't know if this will be the last bag of food for her.
All my best-beloveds have been Now-ists of one stripe or another, though all save Smokey have lost patience with me. Dogs live always in the Now. I try, sometimes come close, but my jittering mind jumps to the what-is-to-come and back to the if-only-I'd-done. Maybe it is faith in the future, that she will live long enough to eat a 35lb bag of food, a bag that usually lasts several months. Maybe it is denial on my part.
I cry randomly - grieving in advance - while she is still alive, still recognises me, can still move. She is happy for another bowl of food, then lies down again near the computer desk where I am. When I am not home, she lies on the concrete in the workroom, choosing the cool floor that is comforting* against the endocrine storm that is eating her strong body...
She is a bit wobbly, but still managing to notice the outer world, still looking out the front window occasionally, still curious about what I am doing in the kitchen, but slowly, slowly, all that is becoming more effort for her.
Let me accept what I cannot change.
None of us get out of this life alive.
~ : ♥ : ~
*I didn't make this up, on one of the websites about Cushings Disease they mentioned that the dogs will seek out cooler places to lie down for just this reason.