I am lying here with my legs tingling. Raking for four hours will do that to me. My face is coated with a layer of “leaf dust” and I am thinking about pulling a blankie over me and not moving one bit more than necessary. I picked up Shane’s ashes at the vet’s this afternoon so actually it feels good to be really tuckered out physically.

I don’t know that it has to, life going on, that is, but it seems that time does. And something pokes at me and says, “Well, live that time.”  I guess I need to give it a shot –  you know, a big push for The Gipper. That sort of thing.

UPDATE: Perhaps the saying should be that “life bubbles up.” This morning I put on my short boots with my jeans; they don’t have zippers and you literally do have to pull them up by the bootstraps. I kind of grinned when I pulled the right one on, remembering those  sulky and reluctant  words I had just written. And then I looked around and the left boot was not right there.  I had to look for it and I couldn’t help chuckling almost aloud as I thought, Not only do you have to pull yourself up by your bootstraps, you have to find the damn boot as well.

I am tired. I went to Ohio, taking a couple of back roads just for the heck of it. I really did a non-diet week end with Hot Head Burritos and Cousin Vinny’s specialty pizzas. I came back and don’t feel as if I have much to say, so I’m going to let it be.

This is LZP’s birthday and the stretched out and fun-appreciating (maybe pranks) celebration I had planned was derailed by an extended “rainy day” period. But I was ready to go full steam last week-end – priority mail and all that.

Then Shane got sick and died. A dog. I know that is what some would think. Just a dog. Well, to quote John Wayne, “Not hardly.”

Shane was a very special dog, not just because of who he was in his actions and behavior but because of the link he was to other people. To hug Shane was to hug the others who had loved him.

A dog, and yet I feel as if my world has collapsed. I am aware  of all the realities of the situation – aware of the horrific struggles people are faced with, but my gut hurts so bad and I can’t think my way out of it. I understand there is nothing to be gained by wallowing in this weird grief; but that’s what’s odd about it – it is like quicksand, not like the mud I have slogged through before.

Perhaps so many goodbyes are wrapped up in this one; I don’t know.

Shane passed away Sunday evening. He had a tumor on his heart. We are all devastated.

Yesterday morning Shane was not in a good condition; his eyes had a confused look and he didn’t want to move. Only by putting a small sauce dish of water right by his mouth and moistening his lips was I able to get him to drink a little.

The night before at the vet’s, he hadn’t indicated that he was in any obvious pain, even when we lifted him onto the table. But, after talking with the vet on the phone, we decided to give him pain medicine and Alison and I went over to the office and got both pills and a syringe of pain medicine. Alison injected Shane and within a half hour, his eyes had taken on a warmth and his eyes started pricking up at noises and voices around him.

When Der Bingle got home, Shane actually sat up and followed him into the living room. He lay at his feet for most of the time, covered with what we have come to call the designated healing blanket. (You know how I can’t just lets a thing be a thing – most always there’s some history and or magic to it.) This morning we will start the pain pills and if they aren’t effective, I will be on the phone to the vet again.

The blood tests should be back soon, but they may not tell us anything and could indicate by negative results a neurological problem. So the response to the pain medicine is actually encouraging. We have discovered that although he walks without a limp, albeit carefully, Shane does not want anyone moving one of his paws.

I suspect we will eventually have X-rays of his leg. Right now we are going to attempt to give him one of the pain pills the vet assured me were “really tasty” and dogs liked them. Somehow, I think I will be calling and paying for him to meet me at the clinic for another syringe.

We appreciate all the good thoughts you can muster.

I regret what I wrote just recently; something is wrong with Shane and we don’t know what. Later that night Shane, who usually spends the night on his back with legs in the air on a big leather easy chair whined to go out and then we couldn’t find him. He was stretched out by the car. But he came in.

That following morning we had to go to Fort Wayne and when I got home I fed Shane, but he didn’t eat and I wondered if someone had already fed him. He lay around while I gathered up stuff to go to LaGrange and I thought he was pouting, thinking he wouldn’t go.

He got in the car and then climbed into the backseat and when I got up home, he didn’t jump out and seek varmints; he stayed on the seat while I toted in two or three armloads of things. He still wouldn’t get out and I had to open the door that he was facing to coax him out. He went to the back porch and lay down and he did not get up again until I had called the vet and led him back out to the car. At the vet’s he seemed dazed but stubborn. We muzzled him to get him onto the table and blood was drawn. His temperature was normal, but that was about all.

We decided to give him something to insure the night passed comfortably for him – as far as we could tell. He has been here,at the Kendallville place, not moving. I am going to go lie down on the floor close to him, but I am worried, scared actually. I am thinking I will never complain about being nagged with Wubbas again.

Shane and I are having a bit of a standoff as to the alpha dog in the house. He is on the deck, totally ignoring my commands to come. I am giving him the Evil Eye of Death. Obviously, this is not how to handle this situation. I really doubt a little conversation about him finding his meals and a place to sleep out of the weather is going to be a viable method. So, while one of us is literally digging in, the other one is going to rip the fur off that dog . . . or something. He’d better pray for the “something”. Amazing how emotions can just go wildly out of control.