Heavy Heart

Sitting staring at the blank screen, I wonder what to say and what to leave out. What have I committed myself to with this blog?

Nicholai is fine, his coat still black and shiny and his appetite as vigorous as ever. He has tucked himself in the basement to gnaw on a Saturday afternoon recreational knuckle bone. Today, I don't have to face a change in his status. I just spoke to his brother's people though, and theirs is a different story.

As I think about "K-K" – his loss of appetite, his pain, the abscess at his incision, and his sudden development of multiple additional tumors, I feel an undeniable physical sensation at my chest. I search for other words, but only come up with: heavy, weight, pressing, down. While I am ever hopeful, there still comes a point when the only path before us is the path to goodbye.

I wanted – already feel my longing slipping into the past – Kindred's story to parallel Nicholai's. I hoped he and those who love him would share many moments of sweet togetherness in the weeks to come. I hoped luck, genetics, determination, and a few remedies would buy him more good time, but as of today, it seems it's not to be.

Of course I realize that Kindred's days, like Nicholai's days – and all dogs' days – are finite, but it doesn't mean that I have to like it. On a day like today when the news is dismal, and I am reminded how exquisite and tenuous each day is; the passing I can't help but ready myself for feels as heavy as a cement block.

In spite of inevitable and repeated loss, I choose to love dogs with their slipper-chewing, squirrel-chasing, stinky-farting, poop-eating, tail-wagging, face-licking, don't-care-how-much-you-weigh, how-big-your-bank-account, what-color-your-hair, or how-new-your-car, slobbering love.