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 Sunday was oddly downbeat – the weather was gloomy and wet, with unseasonable rain. Feels more like March, and reminds you how unfortunate and mean March can seem. It’s the least rewarding month, a long slog, and it makes winter feel like one of those digressions in a 19th century novel. Had the Hewitt / NARN gathering last night, which was great fun, but the day after a party I always feel oddly depressed, as though I have to atone somehow for an excess of enjoyment. Or at least shut up to balance out all the blathering I must have done. But what really sets the mood around here is Jasper, who’s not well. His back legs are bothering him horribly. He was diagnosed with hip dysplasia a few years ago, and diet kept him full of vim and spring. He must have strained himself yesterday on a long walk, or too much running around; by day’s end he couldn’t get up on the bed, and today he’s in pain. To make matters worse he got the Phantom Humps when my wife and Gnat came back from an errand – he gets excited, and falls prey to a peculiar seizure where he pantomimes carnal intrigue with some imaginary dog (or leg). Not only was he unable to shut it off, he was carried along the entire length of the furnace room into the hallway to the garage, running into some empty boxes before hitting the wall. It must have hurt like hell, because he couldn’t get up the stairs afterwards. He rested; he came back at 2/3rds strength, able to get up the stairs again. I could pat his haunches without him flinching. But that just made it flare up again, and now he’s sitting in the living room, miserable. He just went downstairs again to await my wife and Gnat, who are off on another errand; I heard him give a little cry as he walked down the steps. Breaks your heart. I think we might have to have hip replacement surgery, at the worst. So there’s that. And it’s no small thing. Of course, it is, compared. Later: at the kitchen table, around 11. (The above was written around 3 PM.) The rain turned to snow, and now the world has that impossible perfection you get when wet snow coats everything and says: shhhhh. I’m having a glass of Australian wine, part of the huge amount of hooch I have left over. I don’t know what I was thinking when I gathered up provisions for the gathering; I seem to have assumed everyone would have one bottle of wine apiece then turn to the scotch with thirst unslakable. So I have leftovers. Fine by me. I think I can find them all a nice home. I think he’ll be okay. This has been weighing on me all day, as you might well imagine. He seems chipper, I’m happy; he spends two hours on the floor staring straight ahead, I worry. He seems to be husbanding his strength. He seems depressed, but I’m probably imagining that. We had to help him up onto the bed. Gnat got out her doctor kit and gave him an exam and a shot and said she hoped it made him feel better. But I think he’ll be okay, because this came on so quickly; must have strained something or had a flare up we can fix with surgery or medication. I have no idea what the former costs. I wrote a good deal more, specifically about the Jimmy Dean Breakfast Muffin, but I decided to put it in a column – make my week somewhat easier. Honestly, I woke this morning thinking of everything I had to write today, and I just felt this stone on my chest. It’ll all be better come April. Spring; rain; green grass; walks down to the creek. He loves the creek. Usually if I microwave a piece of pizza around midnight he hears it, and bounds downstairs with the hopes he can lick the plate. I’m not going to microwave a piece of pizza tonight. |
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