Clown Feet

Ottoman-shaped dog did something odd yesterday.  For about half an hour, it looked as though he were wearing clown shoes on his back feet - he was rocked back on his "heels," and his toe pads were showing because they were pointing more forward than towards the ground.

Weird.

He also had a slight tremor in a back leg, and crouched slightly, rather than lifting his leg, to urinate. But shortly thereafter, he galloped full speed in the yard in order to notify the top of the pool cleaning implement he spied over the wall in the neighbor's house that hovering in the nearby airspace was not welcome.

His clown feet have not reappeared since then. Herself watches him while he is out marking his territory in the back yard.  He looks at her askance, as if to query, "Why are you looking? I need some privacy!"

What to make of it?  It is very difficult not to speculate about every tiny motion, action, symptom.  Because of her technical expertise for work, Herself knows all about things like paraneoplastic syndromes and peripheral neuropathies; she can't help but wonder if he's starting to exhibit signs of something more because of the cancer.  Or perhaps it is because of his diabetes.  Or perhaps, it is just some other mysterious downturn/betrayal of his small furry body.  There is no way to tell, and also, no good way to stop his decline without causing him undue distress. The only thing to do is to let him age with dignity, treat symptoms that cause him pain, and wait patiently.  It could be a brief wait.  It could be a lingering, questioning wait.  We shall see.

Herself is dreading the inevitable medical crisis and/or final decision. She knows worrying about it won't change the day and time of its occurrence; she just hasn't reached the degree of acceptance and serenity about it that she wants to have. She is afraid of seeing Thorbert suffer.  She is afraid of the ottoman-shaped empty space that will reside near the front door after he is gone. Unimaginable. Or, truthfully, far too imaginable.

She puts on her brave face and enjoys having him nearby, slipping little treats of cooked chicken to him on occasion, making sure he is comfortable.  Tiny Dog rests near him.  It's a good dog life, for now.