To the park today. Chloe couldn't make it. Her gait is wrecked. She literally can't walk straight. So I gave her a couple of treats and headed out with The 'Lil' Bastard.
There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
Chloe pretty much just sleeps these days. Her bouts of incontinence come and go, we've traced these mostly down to that tumor (we think). I was supposed to take her to a specialist to get an ultrasound but work intruded. Now with this problem with her walking I'm wondering if the tumor is somehow impacting her spinal cord. Not sure.
Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie--
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.
Prince Ali, aka 'Lil' Bastard however, is doing well. We arrive at the dog park and he is, as usual, bouncing around like a rabid Tasmanian Devil on a heavy cocktail of speed and meth and I strike up a conversation with a fellow park-goer. This person immediately notices the absence of Miss Piggy and comments.
When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet's unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find--it's your own affair--
But...you've given your heart for a dog to tear.
y'all, I am standing there talking about Piglet and suddenly notice that not only am I crying, it's spread to everyone around me. This group of people start talking about our dogs, life and death, the inevitability of it all and, the whole time, all the dogs are quietly lying at their respective masters feet.
When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!);
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone--wherever it goes--for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart for the dog to tear.
I discovered Rudyard Kipling's The Power of a Dog years ago when Riggs passed on. That was a defining moment in my life as I realized that it's not just me that is so deeply affected by the passing of a dog. Many lose dogs and keep right on going as if nothing happened. Not me. And the prospect of losing Miss Piggy's little muppet bottom is sad enough. But it's eclipsed by the almost certainty of knowing that it's probably going to take me making a conscious decision to end her life. That's the hardest part.
We've sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we've kept 'em, the more do we grieve:
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long--
So why in Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?