Love Leads Down the Paths it Chooses

I suppose allergies might account for some of the blue fog choking recent days, but chances are this particular tint has more to do with Barrington, our Welsh Corgi companion.  Funny that we still call him -- and still think of him as -- a puppy.  In reality he is eleven-and-a-half years old -- one year younger than our marriage.  Since that first stinky ride home from the northern-Iowa farm where he was born, he has steadily woven his way deeper and deeper into the very fabric of our souls.  Even Lori -- or perhaps especially Lori -- who, in the beginning, was not too keen on adding a canine contribution to our household has had her heart unalterably bent in his direction.  He has been cuddle and curl and tummy rub and tug-of-war; he has been the smiling greeter, quick to forgive despite the hours we've been away; he has been the herding shortstop of a playmate whose stubby legs belie his speed.  He has been watch dog (at least when he feels like it is safe), and bedside companion when we are ill. 

But now he is the one who is ill.  Seeing the vet for an eye problem and yet another broken tooth, she was distracted by a different growth, drew some cells, and a few days later we got the report:  lymphatic cancer.  It's been a sobering reality to accommodate.  We have read, we have learned, we have cried, and yesterday we started him on chemotherapy.  I know, I know.  Chemotherapy for a dog?  We have already been privy to chuckles of amusement from some and eyes rolled in disapproval by others.  To put it simply, not everyone agrees that this is a good use of time, energy, or money, of which the process will require quite a lot of all three.   And I understand.  On another day, regarding someone else's family pet I might very likely roll my own eyes.  I make no claim that this is rational.  I only know that we two otherwise careful, prudent, and occasionally frugal people never really considered the alternative of doing nothing.  Our only real hesitation was concern for how treatments might make him feel.  We were already sick enough; we didn't want to add to his. 

Unable, then, to parse the syntax of life's relative value -- or perhaps unwilling to even try -- we set off down this pitted and winding road of injections, pills, temperature taking, special foods and altered plans; freshly reminded of the precious gift of everyday when those days are animated by those we love... 

...even those who leave hair on the couch -- when they have the strength to jump up there.