Yesterday was a tough day with Nicholai, lots of restlessness and raspy panting. Lots of instigation for me to do one of the things I do best – worry.
Did coyotes haunt us on our hike? I too had the uneasy sense of being watched and wondered how close and how many they might have been. As he glanced over his shoulder for the umpteenth time, I told him "Don't worry, bud. I'll make a stand with you." Coyotes don't worry me much, but with my old bubba, I wonder – would they notice he's ailing and want to take him down?
Returning from our beleaguered hike, Nick raced to the couch and began power napping. Hovering, I wondered if he felt sick. His lymph tumors are slowly growing larger, perhaps there is internal malaise that I can neither see nor touch.
In the evening, Nicholai laid in the living room with my sister and me, stress-panting as we discussed impending oncology appointments. Can he smell cancer, do the molecules of our emotion penetrate his senses, leaving him with a vague anxiety he can do nothing about?
Today, we woke to a thin sheet of snow on the ground, after coffee it was a blanket, by the time we struck out to hike, a thick down comforter covered the ground. The hush of the muffled white world signaled a new day, perhaps the calm in the eye of the storm. Raspy panting ceased, Nicholai seemed relaxed and energetic, romping and marking territory in the falling flakes with cousin Sienna. Visibility was limited, turning distant trees into ghostly shadows, the steep portions of the trail slippery; no tracks broke the unspoiled landscape before ours.
Later, my sister and I will trek to the first of many medical appointments. As heavy wet snow continues to fall on this mid-April day, I see that I control so little and what will be, will be.
It's hard, but I'm trying to take whatever comes, one beautiful day at a time.
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