Lunar Howl replaced with My Dog, My Blessing
an excerpt

All through the month of October I was anxious for the Nanowrimo to start. November 1st could not come soon enough. I had no plot but I was determined to complete the 50,000 words. By about the 20th of the month the beginnings of a story started to develop. I had some characters and a couple plot twists – which was funny since I did not have a plot.

I attended the first South Bay region meeting at the Round Table in Sunnyvale. I met other crazy individuals. Most had plots and just about all had completed at least two if not more nano years. I had only completed one. Last year I hit a wall and could not get over it. I had three plots, three stories and more characters and yet I could not find the words.

The anticipation mounted as my characters developed lives and reason. A basic plot was growing. I had notes galore. I had a brother and sister. Both raised quite differently. Neither knew of the relation although the girl being the older of the two suspected as much. There was angst, murder, mayhem, suspense, calm, and logic. There was werewolves and humans. It was shaping up to be quite a story. Maybe it will be written next year.

On October 31, 2007 one of my dogs – my male weimaraner, Count – was diagnosed with Transitional Cell Carcinoma. TCC is one of the most aggressive and difficult to treat cancers that a dog can develop. The saying “felt as though I was punched in the gut” was to say the least under describing my feelings.

There I was, sitting at work trying to get the ball which would be my brain rolling after a couple rounds of coffee when the vet called and delivered the news. I tried to be brave and keep a stiff lip but the lip kept quivering. I remember her saying “Take your time to digest all this. I know it’s a lot to take in and timing is horrible. Call me back when you need me and I will leave word with the front desk to get me for your call.” I know she knew I was trying not to scream and cry and shout and swear of the fates.

As she was talking I was typing in “TCC” to google. What the heck had gotten to my dog and how could I beat it? Like anyone else who types in bad news for searches, I was hoping to find that one fix; that one piece of medicine or diet or something that would relieve my buddy boy of this horror. It took a while to read the veterinary description of TCC. The tears were blurring my vision. They just kept streaming down my face. I was afraid to move, afraid to run to the restroom. I knew that my seat at work was hidden from everyone else so the chances of being seen were pretty slim. It was better that I stay right at my desk and hope that no one comes up to the desk.

It took a couple hours (and I even did a little bit of work during that time) before I was able to call the vet back. She gave me my options and her recommendation. I said I’d get back to her tomorrow – November 1.

Back to Google with a bit more of work mixed in for no extra charge. I wanted to know everything about my options, but my gutt knew what I was going to decide even though I was going through the motions of due diligence.

The facts are my dog is between eleven and fifteen years old. He has arthritis. His muscles are fading. His eye site is not what it used to be. He has fatty tumors. He no longer chases the ball like he used to – although his eyes still light up when a tennis ball is produced. He is not a candidate for surgery – even if the surgery was an option (this type of surgery leads to a colostomy bag – oh yeah now that sounds like fun!) So I decided to put him on piroxicam and see what else I could find through holistic and nutritional means.

During my initial searches I found a yahoo group – Canine Cancer. I joined. I knew I couldn’t go through this alone – although daily I feel so excruciatingly alone- I needed advice and others in the same company. One of their slogans is “Not today….not without a fight.” Every morning that I take Count outside with the other two, I smile and watch him as he sniffs for just the right spot to leave his load and I chant “Not today…not without a fight.” Every day he can still get up and go outside with me, everyday that his body still functions close to properly, is one more day that we have slapped the cancer back and I smile (just before I cry again).

I got home from work as quickly as possible. The ten mile drive never felt longer than it did that day.

I gathered up the dogs and took them out for their first of many evening “pee breaks”. Upon entering the backyard, I give way to the flood of tears. They streamed out along with the silent gasping of someone trying not to cry out loud or at least not too loud.

We came back inside and I could not let go of any of the dogs. Each time I even looked at count the crying renewed. I never knew a person could have so many tears. They had started flowing at 9 am and they were still flowing freely.

I went back on line to see what else I could find. I found my notes on my Nanowrimo story and for some reason it just didn’t seem as important anymore. The next day was November 1st. the start of Nanowrimo. I had been looking forward to that day. Waiting to see where the characters would take me. And now it just felt empty.

I looked at the notes that I had been collecting for my story. Nothing. Nothing came to me. There was no desire, no curiousity, no challenge.

I trolled for more information on TCC and cried myself to sleep that night.

November 1, 2007

November 1 started with a bark. A very early bark. Followed by other barks. The dogs were ready for their first morning out. I need to explain that although my house (or rental hovel) has a backyard it is missing a back door so in order for the dogs to utilize the backyard I must hook them up to their leashes and walk them around the side of the house to the back yard. There are usually three to four out calls a night. They did not used to have to go out so much but they are all seniors and with seniors come changes in my life plus the cancer. I adjust to the disturbances of sleep by napping on the weekend or at least one day of most weekends. Some nights are worse than others. Most are just the same, bundle up as fall is approaching and the warmer I stay the less awake I become, hook up the dogs, get them out back, they sniff, wander, pee and poo as I lean against the wall and let my eyes close. In the spring and summer I usually sit down but with the weather change there is too much moisture in the air and the chairs are wet by the time they need to go out. Wet arse, not a favorite thing at 3 am.

Today I made the call to start Count on Peroxicam every other day. This is a tumor suppressor and anti-inflammatory so it will help with his arthritis too. I was a bit calmer too. Not totally acceptant of the situation but not in thorough tears.

I sent the message of his diagnosis to the rescue group, Friends of Pets Foundation in Sun Valley, that I adopted him from. I felt as though I had let them down by not keeping Count healthy. A silly thought, I know logically, but none the less my thoughts.

I thought of the NANO challenge this evening, but just couldn’t muster the train of thoughts needed to create a world and have characters doing things in that world.

November 2, 2007

Today I received a response from Diane Mohonan, the founder and head rescuer of Friends for Pets. She expressed her sadness too. She also brought a smile to my bleak outlook by reminding of the day I adopted Count.

I wanted to get a friend for bug and help a lonely dog. Bug is a german shorthaired pointer, wiemaraner, and greyhound mix. She also has congenative glaucoma and has lost an eye.

I had found Princess through Petfinders website. She was a senior weimaraner that was almost totally blind and arthritic. I fell for her story and knew I could love her. So I sent a note to the Friends of Pets Foundation. The response was, we’re sorry to say that Princess has been adopted by an elderly couple HOWEVER her kennel mate is looking for a loving home too. This was my introduction to Count.

I read his description. Loving, overweight, male. I wasn’t too sure about the male part. I was just getting my barings dealing with dogs in general (bug being my first dog). I was worried about the stereotypical male – He pees on everything! But I also had my heart set on another dog. So I made arrangements to meet Count.

Bug and I hopped into my Saturn SL Coupe at 3am on a Saturday in April and headed south. We got to the rescue groups kennels around noon. There were so many dogs! All in need of love. Bug was overwhelmed just as I was. I think at one point she thought she might have to stay, but soon relaxed when she realized I was not letting go of her leash and keeping her close to me. She is a bit shy and so many pups was intimidating to her.

We got a tour of the place and heard the plans for the future (a lot of those plans have come to fruition – YEAH!!). And then we met Count.

My first thought was “He’s not over weight – he’s freakin’ fat!” Count was so large that you could not even tell he was male. The fat had rounded him out. But under all that fat, he was a beautiful dog. With tan fur and eyes that matched. He was stockier than the show wiemaraner and his head – well his head was the size of a football (its true!). He would be a large boy after loosing weight. He and bug and I took a walk to see how we would all do. They sniffed everything and pretty much ignored each other – typical sibling activity. Which was actually a good sign to me. I didn’t want them obsessed with each other.

Diane told me the story of his rescue. It seems that he was left at the local Humane shelter. The shelter called the rescue group as Count seemed to be special but not a dog that would be adopted out of the shelter – he would have ended up euthanized. Friends for Pets works with the city and county shelters and pulls the purebred sporting breeds for rescue.

Count had callouses and bald spots on his thighs – like he had been lying around a lot. He had definitely been feed – way too much. But the family just didn’t have time for him. He had possibly been injured and left in the backyard to heal himself. They did not have his name. Diane was reminded of her first wiemaraner. So she named Count after that dog. A dog she had cherished and loved. She was a bit choked up when she relayed the story of the name to me and told a bit about the namesake dog and her family’s love for that dog. She said that when she had walked out of the Shelter with Count on a leash he lumbered out without a glance back as if this was the way things were supposed to be because he owned the world.

All of these things ran through my memory form Diane’s email, but the thing that Diane remember most with much humor was watching me and the two dogs get into a vehicle that was too small for us! I had forgotten that and had to laugh out loud when that picture came back to me. Count sprawled across the back seats, bug tucked into her spot – passenger seat. The Saturn coupes weren’t made for passengers of any size – be those passengers human or canine. (I’m wagon girl now! We fit much better)

The drive home was the longest drive. We got stuck in the traffic of southern California. It took us about five hours just to get out of the area. I was planning on stopping in Cambria for the night but by the time we got there it was well after 9pm. So we kept going up highway 101. I remember bug climbing into the back seat and falling asleep with her head on count. I pulled over and looked at them both sound asleep, together. I knew then that I had done the right thing and all the fears and doubts disappeared.

That was how Count came to live with us. I am so glad that Diane brought those memories to the surface.

November 2 – November 8

I have been buying and reading every book I can find on just about every technique for healing – healing both mind and body fo my pup. Ways to keep him comfortable, possible ways to slow tumor growth, and help the other dogs of the house deal with changes. A lot of time spent on the ground with the dogs. Petting, snuggling, general puppy loving time.

We would go outside and catch the sun in the backyard. It was on one of those outings that bug got to close to a yellow jacket hive and got stung a couple of times. She has a funny “I’ve been stung” dance. I got the stinger out and brought both dogs in. The next day there was a lump in one of the areas that I believed she had been stung. I thought it was a reaction to the stinger and kept an eye on it.

By Wednesday the lump hadn’t gone away. I knew it was time to worry. Thursday I made an appointment for a fine needle aspiration to be done on November 15th. And now I wait for the results.

By this time I had stopped crying daily – oh all right I still cry daily just not twelve or more times a day. I think I’m down to about 4 times. Not too bad for having your family ripped away from you by a horrendous, evil disease that you can not stop and can barely control or at least slow.

November 15

I left work early, drove home and gathered up bug for her trip to the vet. She has always been a great passenger. She only barks at motorcycles at stop signs and even then they must be Harley Davidsons or she just doesn’t care.

She was great during. The vet shaved a little patch off the lump area and drew three times. Prepping the slides. Bug then tolerated having her nails clipped. Now with bug, just about anything goes but do not touch her nails with clippers in hands. She doesn’t try to nip or bit, but she gets the squirms. She pulls her paws away and keeps moving so that a solo nail clipper doesn’t stand a chance. Well this time, the technician had the clippers and I had bug. The pup lost the battle, and her long little nails too.

Count has been holding his own. He is still my indomitable big boy. So full of life and love that you just have to smile when you are near him. He is also getting quite spoiled and demanding. I believe he has figured out that something is up and all he has to do is bark and he gets anything he wants from trips outside, to treats, to love and attention.

His days are filled with rotating sleeping pillows. It is a tough life I’m certain.

Due to his condition and his very small bladder, I have rigged up an area in the kitchen where accidents can happen. I have been as environmentally friendly as possible by not lining the area with paper or wee wee pads but with towels. The area is right next to the laundry so it works out kinda okay. I think that is the one thing I won’t miss at all – having a “dog box” in the house. But it beats accidents all over and having to continually clean the carpet. So I grin and bare it and in some ways I’m thankful for it because as long as Count is peeing Count is beating the odds. One of the things that shuts down first in TCC is the ability to urinate.

November 16 – 25

We are in wait mode. Waiting for the test results for bug. Waiting for more evil symptoms to creep in to our lives.

I have gradually changed their diet to EVO which is a better food for cancer fighting. Cancer feeds on sweets and carbs, this food is more protein. Its advertised as bring out the carnivore in the dogs. All I know is I now have three dogs that love the food and want more and more and more!

I did settle down enough to work a bit on the NANO story over the Thanksgiving break. I did not get too far.

Here’s what I have so far:

“prologue

As I sit down to write this I wonder what the reader will think. Will there be a bit of belief in the tale I am about to weave, or will this missive be relegated to the shelves of twentieth century fiction. It is a far fetched tale that I am certain. And to not believe is much easier than to believe. My companion, Titania, is curled in her chair next to mine. The fire flickers and crackles. I am content. I am warm. I am safe. So why should I tell the true tale now and risk everything? I tell it because the scars I bare won’t fade. The oblivion of a race, I predict, encroaches. Maybe by my possible sacrifice, my genetic code, my species may just survive. I swear upon my grave that this is all true.

Once upon a time our lives intertwined gracefully. Now, as with humans, there is strife, competition and conquest. Our differences have become our ruination. As I write this we are one the verge of extinction. I must admit, there is a part of me that would not mind if the species faded into oblivion. But the larger part of me craves living; desires a future for my race. The catch to this is we need to survive in peace. If we can not learn to do that we will perish in blood. The lessons of other races will have been wasted on us.

There will always be those weaker that do not survive. The question is who is the weaker one? Is strength the ability to intimidate and frighten? Is it being able to weld a saber? Being able to kill? Or is strength being respected? Is it being true to one’s heart?
Chapter 1

This tale begins in a small mountain village in the fourteenth century. It is not a traditional village. Although human voices can be heard and human forms move about through the gyrations of life. The language is familiar to the ears. And yet there is something fundamentally different in this village. These are not humans as you know them to be.

The village is made up of half a dozen or so unkempt falling apart shacks. Most have only roughly woven fabric tacked over the doorways. Many of the pieces appeared to be shredded. No windows. Dirt surrounds the shacks. Heavily trodden pathways led from the village into the neighboring forest. Tufts of smoke could be seen rising, curling skyward until gentle spring breezes caught them and carried it off, from unseen fire pits hidden among and between the hovels.

There are a few dogs, some with pups, rummaging about the areas looking for scraps and what not. Some wrestling, some playing.

As the sun begins to wane a young girl about twelve years of age begins going from hovel to hovel. She is barefoot. Her auburn hair is long and matted. Her tunic is as filthy as her feet. And yet there is a rough attempt at containing the wild hair by tying it back with a strip of leather. And yet, strands keep escaping. The young girl continually attempts to push it back into the tie as she walks along. Occasionally she stops to look at the position of the sun.

With each shed visited she gathers about her the children of the village. The older children help or carry the younger ones. There are infants, toddlers and children in the gathering. All appear to be quite poor in appearance – with tatty clothing, and caked dirt on their faces, arms and legs. They parade off toward a structure that resembles a rustic church. This building has a solid door. The construction is much sturdier than any of the other structures. Windows adorn the second floor of this structure. The first floor being void of all decor with the exception of the one door.

Outside of the structure, there is a well that the young girl stops the children at. She pulls out from her tunic pocket a large rag. The rag is just as dirty as the rest ofg her clothing. She proceeds to pull up a bucket of water from the well and wetting the rag, the young girl attempts to clean the faces and hands of the children. Some of the older children dip their hands into the water themselves and try to clean off a bit. The attempt to clean up a bit caused streaks on some of the cheeks and arms, but for the most part was successful.

She looks once more at the setting sun and hustles the children into the church. She whistles sharply three times. A small band of pups accompanied by a couple of the adult dogs come running toward her. She steps out of the way and they enter the building. She enters behind them and closes the door with a loud bang. A bar can be heard going across the door locking the children in, locking out the rest of the world.

The moon rose. A brilliant full moon. Light from the moon flooded the area.

Candle light flickers throughout the upper floor. Some of the children, particularly the older ones, can be seen pressing their faces against some of the windows. Laughter and singing can be heard from the inside of the building. The barking of the pups can be heard.

At the far window, the young girl peers out. She watches as the dogs moved about the houses. Entering and exiting the hovels. The population seem to increase as the sun sets and the moon begins its assent. In small packs these dogs run into the woods. Two females approached the church and pawed at the door. These two were nudged away by other dogs. They ran into the woods.

Occasionally one of the large dogs would look up at the church. They would appear to nod and then run off.

Sporadically a howl can be heard from one of the houses. An excruciating sound. The sound was a mixture of pain and freedom. The girl winces as the sounds penetrate through the window. Other children point out the windows at certain groups of dogs as they leave the village. More howls can be heard from the forest. Calling to one another, communicating between each pack.

Listening carefully, the young girl could distinguish the howl of her father’s dog. This howl was followed quickly by a huskier bark. The responding dog was under the window that the young girl stood in. She put her hand on the glass. Fingers splayed as if she could touch the dog below. She waved as the dog took off running into the woods. He was larger than the other dogs. His fur was mottled with grey. Another dog ran next to him. It was obvious by the size discrepancy that this was not a dog but a wolf.

From the vantage of the window it was hard to distinguish some of the dogs, but with time and observation the young girl had learn. She knew her neighbors, her family from her friends, the dogs. She also noticed the difference in the size between the dogs and the animals that joined them for although they were both of canine descent there were distinct differences between the dog and lycanthrope.

The girl remained ever vigilant at the window throughout the night. The rest of the children played for a bit, some watched out the windows. As the night went on the children found their way to pallets or roughly-hune beds and fell to sleep for the remainder of the night. All except the young girl staring out the window.

The moon lit up the area surrounding the building. In this light she saw a wolf come to the door. First sniffing around it and then scratching the door. She had seen this behavior before. Usually a female would be following instinct and need to check on its kit. The difference this time was that she did not recognize this female.

After snuffling about further the wolf ran off. The young girl relaxed a bit but decided to make sure all the doors and barricades where sturdy and in place. She knew that the safety of the children rested on her shoulders. She told herself that this was an important task and that this was way she was late in developing her transition.

The young girl went down the stairs. She was jiggling the door bar when there was a sudden and violent slam against it. Followed by scraping at the door. The force of the slam against the door caused her to fall back. The door had held in its frame. There was no crack. The security had not been breached but fear coursed through her veins. This was not normal. Yes, a female may come, sniff the door and give a small scratch or two before running off. But something had thrown itself against the door in an effort to gain entrance. This was not normal.

The young girl felt her way around the dark lower floor. It was unoccupied and starkly bare. She felt the walls using them to guide her back to the stairs. She felt a need to make sure that the walls were sound. Another slam against the door. She came to the stair well. A slight alcove before the first step held another door. The handle faced the stairs. No handle showed on the other side. She closed this door, placing two bars in the holders – upper bar and lower bar. Once the door was closed there was no sign of the stairway in the lower room. One was given the feeling of being in a box when in the lower room. She bolted up the stairs. Hearing another slam. She hoped that the door would hold long enough. The scratching that occurred after each slam seemed desperate. There was a determination to enter the building.
Fear raced through her veins as she stumbled towards the main door. The bars were still in place. The wood was holding. She placed her weight against the door . At that same moment the wolf slammed into the outside. The vibration threw her across the room. She could hear growling and snorting. The wolf outside was struck with some kind of madness. It was driven to get in.

She ran back to the door at the bottom fo the stairs. Bolting it closed. She then ran, tripping, up the stairs and through the door at the top. This, too, she made sure was sealed shut. She then moved quickly through the rows of pallets and mounted a ladder that was at the far end. This lead to the attic area. In the center of the attic was a thick bell rope. She moved towards it. Grasping the rope high up with both hands she let the weight of body pull down. The bell barely budged. She jumped up higher onto the rope and pulled again. Panic was beginning to ease through her body. On the third jump pull the bell had sufficient momentum that it began to peel out. She pulled on the rope three more times before she stopped and allowed the bell to sway back and forth on its own momentum.

She peered out the small window that was situated above the main door. The wolf was back from the door. Staring upward following the sound of the bell. The girl pulled back quickly. She felt the wolf look directly at her. She slowly peered out again from one of the sides. She felt the burn of the glare from the wolf below. A shiver ran through her entire body.

The wolf let out a chilling howl and attacked the door. The howl was answered by other howls. The girl watched from the window as others came into the clearing before the door. At first tentative, gauging the“

I felt terribly guilty about not spending the entire day of thanksgiving with the dogs. Saturday one of the tumors in Count’s leg had grown enough that it is know affecting his walking. He wobbles and occasionally drags his rear right paw. Once in a great while he falls over and sometimes he needs help getting back up on his paws. This is a heart ripping occasion. It is one more step closer to the end. Damn it.

On Sunday my mother called and insisted on bringing over some homemade soup. I was right in the middle of an air bursh project. I knew she wouldn’t like it and would most likely make a snarky comment or give that look of disdain that only a parent can give. But I did kind of want the soup and I could picture her counters, frig and freezer full of soup containers so I said sure – come on over. I let her know that i couldn’t spend lots of time chatting but had to be working on the project. She said that was okay she just needed to drop off the soup.

At about 3pm she arrived and weaved through greeting dogs to the kitchen. My mother does not like dogs. She tolerates them. Bug is the closest to being liked and even then its just a pat on the head. She also doesn’t think about hungry dogs.

So there she is, holding two bowls of turkey soup and my big boy gets a whiff and comes charging out. He stops about two feet in front her and starts barking and dancing about. She is terrified and all I can do is laugh. Yes, I feel bad for her, I know she is intimidated and if he really were to lunge I would have stopped him, but he was dancing and showing every sign of being the healthy, happy, hungry boy that he was. This was the same dog who just that morning need to be picked up and placed paws down onto the ground.

I remember when I had to put him on a diet. This was done by putting less food in his bowl. No big deal, right? Wrong. Dogs can tell how much food is in their bowl. He cried, literally cried for at least a week at meal times. You would have thought I was killing him by trying to starve him to death.

She didn’t pet any of them or give them any affection.

That evening, Count, Bug and Shortnen each got a spoonful of turkey soup added to their dinner. And I had a nice big bowl myself.

November 26

I finally was able to reach the vet for bug’s results. As the lump had been there for two weeks now I was pretty certain I would know what the results would be and I would not like them.

Yes, there were abnormalities. Yes, it needed to be remove. Yes, it could lead to sarcomas – just one more type of cancer. My world is crumbling all around me. I have no where to turn. These are my family members, why couldn’t it be me instead of them?

November 28

I took bug in for her pre-op checkup. The vet was supposed to talk to the surgeon to find out how much margins were needed and if a plastic surgeon was needed.

Bug came into my life in 1995 – March to be exact. She was little waif lost in the santa cruz mountains. I was living in a small little cabin on a Christmas tree farm. On nice days I was prone to leaving the door open so my cats could roam in and out and the fresh air could circulate through. I was working at my computer and noticed something large and brown out of the corner of my eye. I took a few quick turns of my head before I saw the dog sneaking in and eating at the cat food. I took one of the bags of cat food outside and held it in my hand very steady and still with food in it. The pup was scrawny. You could count every bone - even her tail. She was limping on two paws and her right eye was swollen – yes, the eyeball itself – to about the size of a golf ball.

It took about an hour but she finally was lured into the house. I scooped her up and took her over to my landlord’s to see if one of his kids had brought home a little basket case. This man showed his total net worth when he looked at the dog who was standing by my feet and said “Go Home.” Duh!! It was quite obvious that the poor thing didn’t have a home. I asked if I could keep her pending not being able to find her owner. (in the SC Mtns anything could happen and she could have an owner out there who really had lost her – my gut said “Not”) The landlord agreed and so I scooped her up and carried her home.

That night she curled up by the heater as the cats watched from the computer counter. She blossomed like a flower. Relaxing from being in a tight little ball to stretching out to her full length. We all slept on the bed that night. Me, Bug, Bebop, Scarlet and Munch.

I took bug to the vet the next day and got her started on her shots, also set up the surgery for one of her paws, along with an appointment at an eye specialist. The vet noticed a special bond and even said if there was anything as a soul dog it is me and bug. We were from the first moment, joined at the paw/ankle.

I drove about the hills looking for lost dog signs. I didn’t want to put up signs. I wanted to keep her. With the help of the eye specialist – that came true.

Bug and I drove to Palo Alto to see the specialist. He was somewhat surprised to see bug and I was surprised by what he said. “I will tell you all about this dog, if you promise not to return her.” How could I resist, my dream was coming true – bug and I would be a pair. I readily agreed.

It seems that bug has congenative glaucoma. Her eye was filling with water. This was giving her a headache. The previous owner had brought bug in to the eye hospital three times. Each time she refused to have the necessary surgery because of her boyfriend. It seemed she was looking for some miracle cure. He, the eye specialist, believed that the pair had taken the collar off and turned the dog out. And as if that wasn’t bad enough they did this act in November. She found me in March so this poor little pup had fended for herself through the winter – a winter that had snow in the Santa Cruz Mountains. This was later confirmed by a vet tech over a beer who recognized the pup that was now my dog. The couple got a terrier and moved to Alaska. Poor terrier!

Anyway, bug needed her eye fixed. This would entail removing the eye and replacing it with a silicon ball. The ball would be sewn into the white part of the eye. I scheduled the surgery for the coming Friday. The receptionist must have read my mind as she quietly mentioned that they accepted payments.

I walked out of there wondering where I was going to find an extra $600 plus for the surgery. Bug was in her spot in the passenger seat, my hand was resting on her and I was talking away to her. She is a good listener and we spent many an hour in cars.

The message light was blinking on the phone machine when I got home. I hit the play button and I’ll never forget this message as long as I live. “Hi this is XX from the Palo Alto Eye Clinic. And we wanted to let you know that the technicians are waiving their costs and the vet is discounting his fees. They surgery will only be $350. We wanted to do this because you are doing something so special and have gone out of your way to make this sweet dog healthy without blinking. See you Friday.”

Bug had her surgery. She is now the only dog I know of so far that has a fake eye. I’m sure there are others – just haven’t met them. Her paw healed nicely. She gained weight from a starting 35 pounds to a whooping 51 pounds.

November 30

We are all at home tonight. Each dog is receiving their share of love and attention. Tomorrow we schedule surgery and get a refill of Count’s prescription.

So I didn’t succeed at NANOWRIMO 2007. Rumor has it 2008 will be my year for completion. I did, however start writing down my wonderful adventures with my furbabies. I did try to start adjusting to the fact that they will be leaving me sooner than later. I’m not even close to pretending that yet. I have made most of the arrangements for when the end does come. My logic is I would rather spend the time grieving than worry about decisions and writing checks.

Until October 31 I thought my biggest challenge would be to come up with 50,000 words. Now I realize that my biggest challenge is to give my charges the best that I can and make them as comfortable as possible.

So I will continue to write this journal of my dogs and occasionally I will cry, occasionally I will laugh, and occasionally I will curse the universe. But I will always love my dogs no matter where they are or if they are just a memory or a feeling in my heart.