Pug o' my Heart

Such a shaky photo! My fault. MacTavish doesn't feel well at all. We've been to the vet three times this week. He's not snapping out of it so far. He just won't eat anything.

Saturday, June 21 - MacTavish is in the hospital.
I took him back to the vet yesterday afternoon, and they said to leave him for the weekend. After some tests, the vet called me and said MacT is in liver failure. They are giving fluids and medicines and vitamins with IV. When I talked to the vet this morning (Dr. Crowe) he said MacT looks "pretty rough" -- not better, but not worse. He hopes to get him eating again, but can't promise, of course. We will just have to see how he does. and see how he is on Monday.
The vet said that this MAY not be the end. MacT is almost 15 years old.

Wednesday, June 25 - MacTavish came home Monday afternoon but he is still not eating. He did want to come home though and he was very glad to see me.
But he will not eat and will not take the medicine. Tried to bite me, and then grabbed the liquid med applicator and threw it out of my hand -- across the room, actually. I've tried again and again. I wrap him in a towel to try to get a firmer grip on him, but it doesn't work. Dr. Crowe says to bring him in tomorrow morning and he will inject the meds.

I don't know how long he can go without eating. It's been about 2 weeks already. He does drink water. He urinates less often though and it is really bright orange. He kept wanting to go out but then he would do nothing. Dr. C says he might have from one day to three months . . . but only if he begins to eat again.

Last night I had a serious talk with MacT. I told him that if he didn't start eating he would have to go back to the hospital. He got right up, looking a bit alarmed, and walked to his food bowl, and stood -- staring down at it for the longest time -- but then turned away and wouldn't touch it.

He rests and sleeps a lot, preferably right by (or on) my feet.

Dr. C said MacT has a lot of turmoil going on inside him now. It's not going to be a question of getting better at this point. Just of "keeping him comfortable," he said.


Friday, June 27, 2008 - MacTavish came home for two days - Tuesday and Wednesday. Took him in Thursday morning for a shot since he hadn't eaten at all and I couldn't get the medicine down him. Dr. Crowe wanted to keep him for the day -- to hydrate him and force feed him and give shots of penicillin, vitamins and cortizone. His blood work numbers are worse.

When I went to get him, MacT looked worn out. The force-feeding had not worked even when experts tried it. He just seemed so very tired. Had trouble stading up til he got on the rug, and then he just followed me from room to room. I kept offering food (of various kinds) and he wouldn't touch it, but would drink water. I tried soup, but he stuck with water. Dr. Crowe says he probably has just a few days and has asked me to call in every morning and let him know how MacT is doing.

Saturday, June 28 - Aunt Nancy stopped by. She came in holding a milkshake from Arby's. Said she'd been there for lunch and liked their milkshakes so much that she drove back and bought another one - for MacTavish.

MacTavish has always greeted her with much joy. He used to run and get a toy and bring it to her. He couldn't do that today but he did get up and wag his tail a bit. He really wanted to let her know he was glad she had come. We poured some of the shake into a saucer and he did taste it. Just a very little, but he did taste it. He was really trying.

Sunday, June 29
This morning he voided something that looked like black motor oil. He feels worse today.

Monday, June 30, 2008. -- I didn't think MacTavish would make it through the night. but he did. I called Dr. Crowe who agreed that it is now time to let MacT go. He had such a hard time last night. Dr. C thinks it is liver cancer. His breathing is very difficult now.

I'd asked how long this might go on, since all night, every breath seemed to be his last. The vet said it could go on several more days.

It's just really hard. But last night I could see that it will be best for MacTavish. I'm to take him in at 2 p.m. because it is likely to be not as crowded then and they will take us right into a room.
It is such a sad thing. It's just very very sad. He couldn't stand up last night. He has gotten up this morning and tried to drink water but immediately threw it up.

3 p.m. Dr. Crowe was very considerate. He had Susan hold MacTavish's head and had me stand and talk to Mactavish while he gave the shot -- and then offered to give me time with him. Then he wrapped him in his towel and took him away.

He's been a dear little friend. He never thought of himself as a dog. He didn't even like other dogs.

It's going to take some time now. It was the right thing to do, best for him, and best for me too since I could not ease his struggle. But it will take time now for me to know that he is gone. to stop hearing him. I'm not going to discard his bed and things just now. I will wait a little while.
He's been part of my life for nearly 15 years - a steady part. Reliable in his presence, his habits, and curiosities. How he loved certain routines and would remind me if I forgot them. But how he gave them all up as unimportant in the last 3 weeks -- just too sick to think of such things.

Thinking of the last three weeks is important in turning my loss now into his liberation.

Newest Turtle

My newest turtle -- created by my Granddaughter Magda. She is a wizard with a crochet hook! Actually, this one is a hand puppet -- that's why you can't see the tail. The colors are gorgeous and he has wonderful texture.

I'm so happy that she was willing to part with him! A Gift for my birthday!

The Ringwood Socks So Far

The socks are growing slowly. Now past the heel.

Poem - The Source by Mark Doty

Just looked at the Poem of the Week Blog and they have posted The Blessing, a poem by James Wright. It reminded me of a favorite one by Mark Doty. But now The Blessing is going on my list, too as a top favorite. Here is The Source:

Source - by Mark Doty

I'd been traveling all day, driving north
—smaller and smaller roads, clapboard houses
startled awake by the new green around them—

when I saw three horses in a fenced field
by the narrow highway's edge: white horses,

two uniformly snowy, the other speckled
as though he'd been rolling in flakes of rust.
They were of graduated sizes—small, medium,

large—and two stood to watch while the smallest
waded up to his knees in a shallow pond,

tossing his head and taking
—it seemed unmistakable—
delight in the cool water

around his hooves and ankles.
I kept on driving, I went into town

to visit the bookstores and the coffee bar
and looked at the new novels
and the volumes of poetry, but all the time

it was horses I was thinking of,
and when I drove back to find them,

the three companions left off
whatever it was they were playing at
and came nearer the wire fence—

I'd pulled over onto the grassy shoulder
of the highway—to see what I'd brought them.

Experience is an intact fruit,
core and flesh and rind of it; once cut open,
entered, it can't be the same, can it?

Though that is the dream of the poem:
as if we could look out

through that moment's blushed skin.
They wandered toward the fence.

The tallest turned toward me;

I was moved by the verticality of her face,
elongated reach from the tips of her ears

down to white eyelids and lashes,
the pink articulation
of nostrils, wind stirring the strands

of her mane a little to frame the gaze
in which she fixed me. She was the bold one;

the others stood at a slight distance
while she held me in her attention.
Put your tongue to the green-flecked peel

of it, reader, and taste it
from the inside: would you believe me
if I said that beneath them a clear channel

ran from the three horses to the place
they'd come from, the cool womb

of nothing, cave at the heart
of the world, deep and resilient and firmly set
at the core of things? Not emptiness,

not negation, but a generous, cold nothing:
the breathing space out of which new shoots

are propelled to the grazing mouths,
out of which the horses themselves are tendered
into the new light. The poem wants the impossible;

the poem wants a name for the kind nothing
at the core of time, out of which the foals

come tumbling: curled, fetal, dreaming,
and into which the old crumple, fetlock
and skull breaking like waves of foaming milk....

Cold, bracing nothing that mothers forth
mud and mint, hoof and clover, root hair

and horsehair and the accordion bones
of the rust-spotted little one unfolding itself

into the afternoon. You too: you flare

and fall back into the necessary
open space. What could be better than that?

It was the beginning of May,
the black earth nearly steaming,
and a scatter of petals decked the mud

like pearls, everything warm with setting out,
and you could see beneath their hooves
the path they'd traveled up, the horse road

on which they trot into the world, eager for pleasure
and sunlight, and down which they descend,

in good time, into the source of spring.

Originally published in The Gettysburg Review 13.3 (Autumn 2000). Copyright © 2000 by The Gettysburg Review. All rights reserved. Online Source

http://www.english.uiuc.edu/maps/poets/a_f/doty/onlinepoems.htm

Poem by James Wright - The Blessing

The Blessing

Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.
They have come gladly out of the willows
To welcome my friend and me.
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture
Where they have been grazing all day, alone.
They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness
That we have come.
They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.
There is no loneliness like theirs.
At home once more,
They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.
I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,
For she has walked over to me
And nuzzled my left hand.
She is black and white,
Her mane falls wild on her forehead,
And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear
That is delicate as the skin over a girl's wrist.
Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break
Into blossom.