My beloved Scottish deer- hound, Maggie, who is five and a half, is desperately ill. She may not be fighting for her life–she seems at ease with what is–but I am. At this moment, she is alive and apparently not in pain, so I celebrate. We had some sweet moments together this evening. Elegant Maggie.
The mind wants to say, “It’s not fair! She’s too young!” and then I notice that awareness is open to this very moment when the mind is fighting: is open to the mind’s argument, the dog’s illness, the humans’ distress. All equally welcomed.
The facts are: outrageous fever, finally contained and normal, due to strong antibiotics. Source of fever unknown, even after extensive blood tests and urine cultures. She is not eating–although that is not uncommon for her–but it’s been four days. That is uncommon. Now, suddenly, her back right leg is terribly swollen, from thigh all the way down to her paw. Very, very, peculiar symptom.
Grief rolls through me–grief that now she can’t run as fast as a deer–her essential nature–but instead, is wobbly on her feet and managing only a slow walk. From time to time, tears flow. By allowing, they seem to pass on through.
© Amrita Skye Blaine, 2012