the gift of practice

carver and I had a wonderful walk to daisy field today. we managed to go out in the one dry hour between rain storms. lots of running, terrible eating of goose poop (or wonderful depending on who you speak to). he found a soft ball that we played with for a while, until he tried to eat off the leather. then it was off into the woods for a spell. I managed to take us on a good loop that didn't encourage carver to stop in his tracks. we ran into our dog walker friend, who said i could call her for a ride if we ever got stuck, which was very comforting. i also met a nice neighbor friend with a 9 month old puppy, who also had a hard time finding a vet she liked locally, and this made me feel less like a crazy animal person. I like it when people express an interest in carver's condition. I like to talk about him, of course, but there is also something very human about the experience-i find it unsettling when people with dogs do not ask me about him-It makes me feel invisible in a way, like when a person hurries by a drunk woman lying on the street, or a handicapped person who is having trouble maneuvering a ramp, or a blind person crossing the street by themselves-it has the quality of not wanting to see, denying the existence of what you do not want to look at. It has made me look at how I behave in these situations. a man came up to me on the subway platform and asked me how I was, and I had the space in me to take him in and smile and respond, instead of shut down. He did ask me for money, and I didn't give him any (I spent my laundry quarters on a cup of coffee this morning, but in all honesty I rarely give anyone money) but we still got to interact, he said thank you and I said take care, and I felt like we saw each other for those moments.

I have been doing my meditation practice every day for a week now, since I met with my meditation instructor. Although the sitting has been many things-often a big jumble of thoughts and feelings-I have been noticing that I have been much more present with carver, as he is right now. Not thinking about his impending death. Not thinking he should be doing better. Not thinking of the next step in regards to his care-pain meds at this time or he should he be eating x instead of y. just being with carver, on a walk, or on the couch, massaging his hind legs. here I am and here is carver, and that is perfect. sometimes I miss his other leg, but not in a "this is terrible" way. I just miss it, how the white on his foot was speckled, how the white did not come as far up his ankle as the remaining leg. but even this feels present-the grief is now. I have begun to realize that there will be a time for the death, a time for the sadness of that, and I will feel it deeply when the times comes. but truly, one cannot prepare for this. and fooling myself into thinking that playing it over in my mind will somehow make me stronger, or will somehow relieve me of the pain of it only robs my time with him now, which is so precious. I realized this week that I have actually been feeling content. I am home much more than I have been in years. I have slowed down. I have time. I do not feel like I need to be doing anything else. this is a huge wonderful gift.

o.k. here is the stuff only i need to pay attention to-pain meds at 3pm, snack of cottage cheese & a little duck, which he didn't lie at 415 then his deramaxx. and he popped on the walk. water on the walk.