I take a whole lot fewer steps in a day when I'm not taking a buncha steps in a day with my dog. So my phone tells me. And I don't want to walk around my neighborhood without her. I went to the gym and walked some, but my heel got to acting up pretty quick, so I spent most of my time in the weight room, which is where I spent many an hour in recovery from a shitty break-up some years ago.
As I wrote to my friend, I don't want to be able to go to the gym. I want to have to go home to the dog.
Over on the tumblr I set up with a queue of old pix from my phone (set to roll out one a day in the older-first order)---about which I'd mostly been wondering lately how much to be censor-y about, in photos to review that would be coming up soon---it's just this past week come to the time when I adopted the dog. So there are all these pix there with her young self, sometimes with the former friend who went with me to pick her up, as I had not yet by then settled for good on that person's list of the varyingly-mysteriously unworthy. I thought that was going to be what was weird and poke-y about that series of photographic reminders. Turns out it's actually, of course, that that little doggie is now very sick, and I might lose her, and my life really does revolve, in many ways, around my partnership with her, plus, in short and at heart and what it all boils down to, I love her.
Something I've only remembered this afternoon about that time, when she was new to me, is how the young furry one had been exposed to a pup with parvo on her rescue-wagon trip up here from Louisiana. So even when I adopted her, I was bracing for the possibility that she might be about to get very sick, with a good chance of survival cuz we'd be right on it, me and the Humane Society, but with that vigilance and attendant emotions interwoven in the whole life-shaking-up that was just beginning, bringing her into my world, taking responsibility for her, and gradually building a relationship with her that, whatever-all else it's about, has loyalty in both directions such as I have rarely experienced, ongoingly, with another creature. Maybe I do or don't deserve that in some relationships, and often deserving isn't involved at all, but with the dog it isn't even a question. It's just how it is.
It may partly be anti-anxiety drugs and it may well also be my visiting her yesterday, along with who-knows, but my shaggy pal's been seeming more comfortable to the vetfolk since I was there, and more acclimated to being in the hospital. Less stressed. I hated to leave her there, again, of course, and I hate that I can't tell her what's going on and why she needs to be there. Not that I even know, really. But you follow.
Anyway, this is my world right now, and I'm hoping I'll be in this waiting-and-hearing-more mode for a good stretch of days, cuz that's what'll happen if they figure out how to treat her and she gets better. Yeah, it's not super-Zen radical acceptance to root with all my heart for an outcome. But screw that kind of radical acceptance. Up with caring; rah for medical maintenance protocols and science and treatments; and Go, Dog. Go!