Click images for desktop size: "Red Flight Through Memory" by Anonymous
This morning when I woke up my puppy could barely move.
I found myself looking at her for an awkward moment praying she wasn't dead.
She had some muscle stiffness and, with patience and her tolerance, we managed to work it out so she's moving around all right now.
She still has some soreness and some discomfort but she never lost her smile and her willingness, no desire, to please.
She a good dog.
It ironic because last night we watched a Japanese film about dogs; "Quill".
The Japanese have a rich tradition of making animal films. They find the most exquisite animal actors.
They don't just do tricks, they act. It makes even mediocre films seem remarkable.
"Quill" is about a yellow lab. The story follows from the day he's born until he dies. Quill is a seeing eye dog, a guide dog, a service animal.
Its a good story. Pretty typical. Its very real,all the actors are very good. There's plenty of laughs.
There's not real tragedy or sudden jolts. It just flows along nicely, competently, enjoyably.
There came a point in the story that got me very emotional, beyond merely "misty". It choked me up and I couldn't understand why.
My distress started when the blind man is in hospital getting dialysis treatment. He lies there while the dog watches him with an attentive concerned look.
Then the people who trained Quill come to take him back to the center, even though its just until the blind man recovers enough to care for Quill its very sad.
It took me a full day to realize why this upset me so. I lived that scene.
I was hooked up to a dialysis machine, and even though they tell you it doesn't hurt it raises the concept of discomfort to a level only a vengeful god could relate to. Watching your blood flow in and out while pumps suck and blow and you contemplate the poisons that must generate inside your own body is thrilling in a negative way.

Click images for desktop size: "Apples" by Rembrandt Van Rijn My puppy is a trained therapy dog so she could stay with me in hospital. The first time we were there for the treatment she thought this was just another test for her, so she behaved, tried to make me play with her, clowned around an acceptable amount.
The next day she decided that this wasn't a made up thing and she started to be concerned. She watched me intently.
When it went into the third day she got worried. She didn't sleep that night but, according to the nurses she stayed awake all night staring at me. I know she woke me a couple of times breathing in my face. Even asleep I knew she was just checking on me.
Then I had an inexplicable fear that they were going to say I couldn't take care of my puppy anymore and then they were going to come and take her from me. I don't think it was an irrational fear.
My puppy and I were both very relieved when we got to go home.
We don't like to be apart. Don't like it at all.
Its funny how the mind copes with pain. Its like having a painful operation where you can't believe you'll live through the agony. And then a few days later you don't ever think of the pain and by the weekend you're telling funny stories about the operation.
I guess it was like that with me and seeing the little movie bought it all back to me in a rush because my brain, in helping me cope, had blocked all that painful stuff out.
I wish my brain wouldn't try and protect me so much.

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