My Neighbors' Dog: Important Things

I'm writing and posting this now in the midst of all the "Cutting Weight, Healing Leg" hurly-burl because it'll just take a minute and, anyway, that's the point. I do "have" that minute.

First, for goodness' sakes please: yes straight-up (I think) this is a story in which in a small way I make a correct/human-good choice. Which I'm writing. On my blog. Think of that what you will. That's not my why, and if it bends you up you can- I dunno. Read Gawker. Whatever. (Not to rag on Gawker. They're fine.).

My neighbors C and M have a really lovely golden retriever, whose name I've always been a tiny bit iffy about: he calls her 'me, I think short for Wilme.

She's a sweet, very good-natured dog. She's a bag of bones. She's old. She's dying.

I saw him carrying her the other day, and asked brightly, "Things okay?" And he shook his head and half-smiled as I expressed sympathy, and he carried her inside.

I had lots of things telling me not to--my focus; my own anti-social nature; the fact that I'm not much of a conversant right now--but I knocked on their door on my way back from my miraculous dinner that I did not think I'd get to eat, today.

Monica's dad was over. Wilme was strewn on her dog-bed, all skin and bones, alert to attention but not really moving. They aren't sure she'll make the night, and if she does then tomorrow, etc. She's an old awesome dog, at the end of her line, and had I not knocked on that door tonight I might not have gotten to say goodbye to her, scratch her chin; might not have gotten to do my best to be warm to two neighbors who've always been very warm to me.

My point is, and man wow it is to myself, past present and future, most of all: it is good, really good, to have things that are a bit crazy that you embrace and devour you up. I like that, and will always try to have that, in various ways, in many parts of my life.

And it's good, in the midst of all that, to remember when it makes a huge difference to just take ten minutes. I'm so glad I did. For myself. Selfishly. And yes, for a good dog. She deserved that scratch. She deserves a bunch more.

Happy trails, Wilme.