Listening to Mia

Mia, I hear you bark a warning to the squirrels in our neighborhood: Bow! Bow, wowowow. It's music to me, because it tells me you still want things.  [Photo: Squirrel! A few years ago.]


Your doctor has warned me that the tumor that started in your bladder 15 months ago has now destroyed one kidney, and is working on choking the other. When that happens, the end must come right away.


Already, this morning, you watched me from your cushioned mat at the entrance to our den, while I searched for pee pads that absorbed overnight overflow from your surgically - reduced bladder. This morning, just three, nothing spilled on floor or cushions: good girl! Finished with that, I asked if you wanted to eat, and you lifted your head and cocked your ears; in no time, you emptied the bowl.


This is so different from yesterday, when I couldn't find you in any room, on the deck, or down the stairs in the yard, and you still didn't come when I called with food.  I found you curled up in a corner of the patio behind a chair, trembling. I got the message that you were in pain, and I wondered if you were telling me that the time had come to take you out of this life.  [Photo: Mia in February of this year.]


We went through this same cycle a week ago, and I actually made the appointment. One last good weekend, I thought, and then... My friend Jason came to visit, and you rose to the occasion, excited to sit at his feet with your chew bone while we talked into the night. When Monday came, you dragged me across the parking lot at Publix to chase a delivery truck, and I called off the appointment.

Yesterday in the hot afternoon, as we were walking with our friend Susan through our neighborhood cemetery, Susan poured her bottled water for you into my cupped hands. You lapped up the liquid, took a look around, nose quivering to pick up scents in the breeze, then lapped up some more, your tongue exploring all the creases in my palm. "Language" literally means "tongue," and your tongue was saying that life is good.

Mia, keep telling me what you want.

[Photos: (top)Mia and me, on my birthday, after I called to cancel our appointment. (below) Sunday, Mia with Susan in Marietta's Confederate cemetery.]

See my page Loving Dogs for a curated list of articles about dogs in my life and in the lives of authors.  [Photo below: Mia on July 16.]