What to Title This?

I'm not sure where to start to write today. I could go back 12 years and work my way forward or I could just start with today and trust that anyone who has ever shared her/his life with a dog will get it.

I got the call from the vet while in the middle of preparing Sweet Potato Butter. It's good that I was already busy, involved in something I couldn't just leave. There is still too much of my Granny in me to allow good food to spoil, so I continued the process while pondering the implications of the information from the vet. Moose, the dog who has - to borrow a phrase from the writer Jim - licked the love back into me more than a time or two, has a bone tumor on the side of his head.

The surgeon feels sure he can operate and remove it all, but he also assured me it would return. There is no cure, only decisions to be made concerning the best course of treatment. I'm not going to opt for the surgery. I suppose that may outrage some pet owners, but Moose is not in pain, now. He is not acting as if he is ill or uncomfortable or in any way distressed. I cannot justify deliberately distressing him, when the outcome is inevitable.

As I stirred the pumpkin, waiting for it to thicken, I, of course, relived the many adventures of Moose - the Moose Tales. I'm not even sure I have a copy of all of them anymore. Computers come and go, and I have failed to print out or save much of my writing. I am sure there are a few who read this blog who know Moose as well as they know me; mainly through words that have been shared over the past twelve years. He doesn't hear much at all anymore, and his vision is becoming more tunnel-like with age and cataracts. He rarely ventures all the way to the bayou these days, preferring to stay close to the patio, closer to me. I can't remember the last time he brought me a dead thing.

He still likes to sleep at the end of the bed, although now I have to pick him up and put him there. His weight is down about 19 pounds from his heaviest weight, but he always tended to be heavier than he should have been, so now he is pretty much the weight he should be. He has begun to bark to get his way this past year; mostly to let me know when he's ready to come inside or that Bella the Cat won't move away from the water bowl, where she plops just to torment him.

He's a good dog. He's still possibly the best friend I've ever had; a major source of unconditional love in my life today. And I promised him a trip to the Grand Canyon some years ago. I'm gonna have to get busy to make that happen. I want to show him the stars from the North Rim. Heck! I want to see them myself! Before we both get too old, too blind, or just too tired.

Fickle Pickle

I wake up most mornings with the intention of updating my blog with some particularly witty or intellectual comment that is sure to garner boatloads of traffic, only to be sidetracked by things of equal, albeit less satisfying, importance. Things like, working the daily Sudoku or letting Moose out for his daily dump. Letting him back in again. Letting him out again. Letting him ... well, you get the idea. I have all manner of things of pressing importance wearing away the minutes of my day. There just seems to be no time left for the frivolity of writing.

If I were Vianne, I would have a grand tale of being kidnapped by a roving band of gypsies and forced to perform for crowds at county fairs by day and privately entertain a different gypsy man every night, escaping only when she began to feel guilty for enjoying herself too much.

But, I am not Vianne. The last I heard from her she was still holed up in some sleeze bag hotel with that scoundrel Mikey. Loving every aching minute.

Thanksgiving was pretty much the usual assemblage of Catholics, Christian Fundamentalists, Muslims, and me. I was visiting my younger daughter and her husband who live near Fort Hood, Texas. The three men and one of the women are all currently serving in the US Army and have all spent time in Iraq and/or Afghanistan. In spite of what might be apparent religious differences, the day was delightful. Most folks I know don't get into discussions of a religious sort just for the heck of it, and the topic didn't come up. There was some interesting sharing of cultural experiences, with the only really awkward moment occurring when one of the CF's asked one of the Muslims if he were pro-Taliban.

Seriously???

After the silence fell and picked itself back up again, and the young man being questioned graciously answered "no" without appearing at all condescending, conversation was diverted to other topics.

The only other issue that was remotely amusing was that my daughter has decided everything is better with bourbon, which she had added generously to several of the dishes. However, it was easy enough to tell which of those had been cooked enough to dissipate the alcohol, so no preferences were inadvertantly compromised.

The rest of the visit was spent eating leftovers and decorating for Christmas. I am home again, and preparing for birthdays(not mine) and Christmas. The carpenters have finished the work in my house; the bricklayers did what they had to do outside; and life on the bayou, while unseasonably cold, is once again quiet.

If you're passing this way, stop and get down for a cup of coffee and a chat, sha'!