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.