We have no tulips this morning. The great winds of last night snatched them right off their stems. No longer is there an ethereal plane of color--red, yellow, purple--floating two feet above the front yard.
And, just like that, for the first time since we brought her home thirteen years ago, our dog, Nala, did not prance and bark when I took her leash from the hook. She has a tumor on her right hip, and a couple of weeks ago the vet simply shook his head. Yes, there's treatment, but it's thousands of dollars. But Jim and I don't believe in putting pets through chemotherapy and other invasive treatments, because they can't understand why we are hurting them so, and even successful treatments only prolong life for a while. Now the tumor is affecting Nala's ability to walk. She's also panting a lot, as though overheated, but I fear that it indicates some problem with her heart or lungs. She doesn't seem to be in pain, but Jim and Nala will see the vet tomorrow and we'll get his take on things.
Nala is about fourteen, and she's had a good life with us. Lots of walks, lots of treats, lots of sleeping near us, with us, on us. Lots of naps on breezy days in the back yard. For a few years, she had Buddy, another rescue who just wandered up and claimed us all; we lost Buddy to heart failure last summer. Now Nala has the company of two cats, and one of them loves her dearly, is always following her and rubbing up against her.
Just like that, little things change, and big changes move through us. I have no more to say about this. My words would not change a thing.
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