August 13, 2013

White Dog and I sat together in the icy blue first light of the day and watched Quinn as he lay on the pallet of blankets we set up at the foot of our bed. "He's home," she said softly. "Where he belongs." And yet her voice caught as my heart has since early yesterday evening when Steve brought him in and set him up on a similar pile of blankets in the thick of our life in the living room.

The Mighty Quinn has had no seizures and for that we are grateful. And he is voraciously enjoying regular food and treats and water. He is aware of his surroundings when he is awake (he dozes lots mostly). He cannot walk and does not seem inclined to even struggle to try. Though not seizing his body is still often rocked by tremors in his leg or facial contortions. He is calm and does not appear to be in pain.

But there is a distance. Quinn is content to be an observer. He lies on his spot and happily drinks in life around him...the sounds and sights and routines of the White Dog Army and us humans. He actually raised his head and smiled at this morning's song to the Mailman, with sort of an "Ahh, yes" kind of look.

I believe Quinn is saying his goodbyes and revisiting all those things that made his life with us the amazing rich experience that it is. I think he is letting the rest of the Army see that he is tired and fading. Always gentle and caring about others, I believe he doesn't want a trail of tears in his wake.

He and I have looked deeply into each other's eyes. It is ok for me to continue to hope for a miracle or that his new medication will bring him magically around...but I have agreed not to let that get in the way when he tells me that his fight is over. We both suspect that time will be soon. (And here I add that I would love the Universe to prove me wrong).

In the remain ticks of the clock, we will not think of the clock but will do what the White Dog Army does best...be there for each other and love one another fiercely...and try to remember that life is a combination of both the bitter and the sweet. Acceptance of this perspective comes much easier to a Mighty White Dog than it does to this momma.

Maybe the miracle in progress is simply this time together. Thank you all so much for sharing this with us; knowing you are there loving and caring and hoping helps more than you can imagine...for all of us.