Surprises galore

Am sooooo sorry for the gloomy turn this blog has taken, but I know from painful, firsthand experience that you can run, but you can't hide, from reality. And reality? It has its gloomy parts.

But surprises often break through the gloom, which keeps things interesting. And infinitely less depressing.

For instance, we were sure that Linus, our dear shepherd mix, was going to go to Doggie Heaven not terribly long ago. He was listless, he wasn't even sitting up to eat, and when it was meal time, he was refusing his favorite foods. He wasn't even interested in liverwurst, disgusting stuff that he used to drool a river over (which was disgusting too, but it made him oh-so-happy). In short, he was taking a "Is that all there is?" attitude to everything. In short: He was Peggy Lee with paws.

To see if there was something else afoot, in mid-October we called the house call vet in to give him a checkup and to ask her opinion of where he was on the quality of life scale. After looking him over, she told me he was a candidate for euthanasia, and she could do it right then. Immediately. Like, now. I was taken aback, shall we say, and said I would have to talk it over with Linda, so the vet gave me a number of days that she could come back and put him down, and I saw her out the door.

I then had a very painful cry (as opposed to a "good cry"--it certainly wasn't one of those), then gathered myself together and went to see how Linus was doing.

He was doing well. Really well. He was sitting up, eyes aglow and looking as perky as perky could be.I think his tail might have even been wagging. A little. He wasn't walking or anything, but he was a new dog. And I think he was trying to tell me something.

All he needed was a sign saying, "Hell no, I won't go!"

Surprising indeed. In fact, he's been doing pretty well ever since the vet came by, though he has had moments of food fussiness. He had been eating Dinty Moore beef stew--also a disgusting enterprise--like it was going outta style, then suddenly turned his considerable nose up at it. It was as though his senses came to their senses.

But no matter what, he eats baby food--yes, baby food--with abandon. As long as it's fed to him with a spoon.

Yes, I feed baby food to my dog with a spoon. You got a problem with that?

I'm not the first. This baby-food-with-a-spoon business was something my cousin in Wisconsin said she did for an ailing dog of hers, and it has been our culinary Ace in the Hole with this guy. (Thanks, Pat!)

It's genetic, I think. At my aunt's memorial, both Pat and I were there solo. Our respective spouses (she married a guy--it happens in the best of families) were both home, tending sick dogs.

This, apparently, is what my people do.

As for the memorial, it was a little bizarre, and not in a good way. The primary oddness was that it was led by a priest. My aunt was Catholic, true, but she wasn't a church-going Catholic. I think she was more than a little scarred by her religious upbringing (how unusual) and as an adult, found the whole church-centered enterprise a giant waste of time. She was a Christian in deed, not in pomp and circumstance.

At least that's my take on it--we didn't discuss such matters in my family. (We didn't discuss most matters--except politics--in my family.)

Anyway, the priest had a whole religious service put together, including a reading by yours truly--yes, the dyke in the woodpile read from the Good Book. (No, there was no thunder or lightening.)

I was annoyed at first, for had I been told I was to give a reading by the members of the family deciding such things (again, we don't discuss most matters), I would have found something appropriate. Instead, the priest had me read something that I couldn't make heads nor tails of, and when I suggested we find something more suitable, he told me he would rather we keep this piece, for it was the "crux" of his entire service. So, not having an alternative at the ready or a spine (for that matter), I read it. For him (for of course, the service was all about him).

(Any residual bitterness about the Catholic church, Ann? Oh no, not me!)

There was a surprise here, too. When I got up to do the reading, I began reading the wrong thing. Not on purpose, I promise--but my passive-aggressive subconscious (or was it Barb?) had me mess it up but good. I stopped myself after I realized my mistake and after I apologized to the peeps and Barb herself, we had a light chuckle and I finished my task and sat down.

I was a bit aflutter at first, but then my sister-in-law said something kind (she can't help herself) and my cousin Pat whispered to me, "Barb would have liked that goof most of all."

Maybe. But I think she would have been most touched by the comments made by my brother, who could have had a tremendous career as a speech maker for any occasion if he hadn't been so darned intent on a life in public service (go figure). He summed up the many literal and figurative gifts she gave us wonderfully, as well as her tremendous humor. For instance: He opened his comments by reporting what Barb would say in mock exasperation each time she opened the door to us. "What--you again? Well, I suppose you should come on in..."

Lovely, that.

Anyway, I have gone on, haven't I? Sorry, but I have been away, and felt some catching up was in order. Now, I must get to work, which is, bless me, something I get to do from home today. Ah, flexible work arrangements. (Can I hear "Amen"?)

And now that some of my gloom has lifted, I am thinking about The Comedy anew. Good thing, for there's another Girls!Girls!Girls! on the horizon (November 30, to be specific). Go to my "Comic Attempts" page for details, if this is of any interest to you.