Sunday, November 16, 2014

Equations for joy

This was Wednesday:

Wren is suffused with joy today. I can’t claim to know the source of her happiness, but it could be the sun on the floor, me being home and the big dog at daycare, a belly full of breakfast?

She is uncharacteristically taking a soft chewed toy from the collection, over to her bed and giving it a quick thrashing, then going back for a new one. A single floppy gutted stuffed creature is down for the count, one after another. They don’t complain.

Mr Frog lounging nonchalantly despite his left jugular being ripped out.

I pick out a new toy for her and she trots over, takes it in her mouth, sallies over to her bed and shakes the toy-beast. Then comes back for more. This is not like her at all. But I love it.

Tiny Dog is quick to join in, jumping on Wren’s shoulders with a minute growl. In Tiny Dog, she finally has a friend. Others have tried, but failed. Smaller, like a little sister, is safer for her.

Meanwhile, the usually loud one, Georgie, is silently shaking by the front door, in hopes that I will notice and take her on a walk.

This is today:
It’s hard to know that her spark of happiness will be brief, yet it’s still infectious. 

Fall fashion: blaze orange.
And it lingered throughout my week, through the rush and thrum of my busy work week of bladder and ear infections, itchy dogs, weeping wounds, ascites (fluid in abdomen), anal sac expressions, new kitten and puppy wellness exams, diabetes glucose curves, acupuncture appointments for hip pain and skin issues, hypertension check-ups, three referrals to ophtho, mysterious new masses, investigations of weight loss, discussions of obesity, post-op knee surgery complications, walk-in appointments squeezed in, adult vaccine appointments and heartworm tests, and some good-byes to a few old cats. Hardly time to exhale, dust off your shoulders and go into the next exam room, again, and again, and again.

Sat afternoon arrived, and I promptly took a three hour nap.

All three chihuas joined me, Wren tucked into my arms, Tiny Dog under the covers on my ankles and George rotating between 4-blankets-deep sleep to digging out for a breath of fresh air.

Upon waking, the first thing I saw was the darkness of the room, then I heard Wren stir, stretch on my face. She has the softest coat of the four dogs and it’s easy to hold her on your chest, as your wake up, little by little. She will dart a tongue out to your lips once or twice, as a hello, and then flop over, demanding a belly rub. Her joy is still there, of course. It’s always there. Right in front of you.

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