Rusty continues to improve little by little, though his appetite seems to have doubled since he had his stroke; he is always full of surprises, this dog of nine lives. He looks normal when he sits but his gait is wobbly as he wanders around the workshop’s garden.
This morning he stumped around a bit but never actually fell over so that is a first. We measure improvements in his condition in tiny increments. They are so far, all encouraging. As you might imagine I’m watching him like a hawk and monitoring his progress like a banker eyeing the repayments on a dubious loan.
To have this time with him feels like a gift such that I find myself more than usually obsessed with his well being. He returns the compliment by following me around like my guardian rather than the other way around.
He knows as well as I do our time together is limited and we neither of us is ready to waste a minute. For me it is tinged with sadness as I feel the weight of a lovely, slow, goodbye. It has been a glorious decade of great fun but it feels like the curtain is making a slow descent.
No regrets. My glorious boy.
