November 23

We awoke to a bitterly cold Friday, yet Nala was more steady on her feet and alert than she had been since returning home. She was happy to eat left over Thanksgiving turkey, and she led my eyes to her leash making it quite clear what she wanted. But it was so cold, and I didn't know where we had stored her sweaters and coats; she never really liked to wear them anyway. Gracie's red coat hung on a peg by the door, her parchment thin greyhound skin needing more protection from the elements than the others required. Nala and I conspired to borrow Gracie's coat and lock the others in the living room, then slipped out the kitchen. To the sound of Max's frantic barking, we were off! I nearly had to jog to keep pace with her, and she clearly was capable of far greater speed than her Mommy. We headed down towards the old schoolhouse and up into the still unsold development of "Schoolhouse Farms." There, I took her off leash, and she happily explored the empty lots and spec homes. And then, miraculously, she bent over, and pooped. A nice long, perfectly formed, steamy poop. My heart leapt; I praised her and we danced with each other in circles in the empty field. This is a dog who doesn't want to die.

November 30, 2007

Some of our days are good days, grounded and strong. Other days are not. I guess that’s how it’s going to be from now on.

I took Nala into the office with me. She wasn’t nearly as bright eyed and energetic today as she’d been on previous occasions, although she did have her moments of really perking up to say hello to new people and supervising the general activities. The signs are subtle, but I notice the difference. Tonight she tried to go right upstairs to bed after dinner, but I encouraged her to stay downstairs with us, although she sought places far from the center of activity, and slept, her breathing heavy, but regular. I restlessly prepared a new "super health-freak" stew for her, hoping that the holistic supplements would be better portioned within a larger batch of food, and found myself giving into despair. Instead of feeling strong and grounded, I felt weak and desperate…please don’t leave me, I pleaded. Please get better! Please may this help you… I stirred into the stew. I felt so tired, but tried to comfort myself with assurances that I would be there for us both. It isn’t easy to hold your own sobbing heart, but she is teaching me how.