You Know The Drill

I've made some new friends in my colleagues over at The Women's Colony. Sometimes it's scary to be the new girl and there's always a period of adjustment but then, more often than not, there's that sliver of commonality and you're off to the races. I'd like to tell you that we all share a fondness for Hanes briefs and Burt's Bees lip balm but I suppose that wouldn't warrant much of an entry.

Today, here on the East coast I, through an accidental medical experiment, found out that, had she not been on steroids, my dog would more than likely be dead now. I fed her by hand and I heard from afar the heart stopping thump when she fell off the ramp to the bed. I spent much of the day chewing over whether medicating her was a misguided end run around nature and consequently unfair to her even though there's no way I couldn't have at least tried the meds.

Much further West my new friend, Minnesota Matron, moved her laptop into her living room to be closer to Jekyll. Jekyll has been her companion for nearly 17 years. He is older than all three of her children. While he has become ill in increments over a long period it is only this week that his distress has been acute enough to convince the whole family that letting him to go is the right thing to do. But the vet is out of town. So Jekyll sleeps while the Matron grades papers and waits for the vet to come tomorrow and help her boy.

You know the drill. Hold them close, give them treats and let them get up on the couch. You'd think, given events of the past weeks, that I'd be hard pressed to find anything left that qualified as a treat for my pooch. Two slices of turkey, the last bite of my sandwich and 3 hot dogs cut into easily manageable chunks and served by hand would indicate I've retained some wiggle room.

And it's not even time for bed yet.

Godspeed Jekyll, you're a good puppy.