veterinary clinic under the sign of the hourglass

Gradually and then suddenly, Garth became an old dog. His sight went gradually, his hearing rather suddenly, he started sleeping a lot more. But until very recently the essence of Garth, his Garth-ness, remained in a pure undiluted form: his stubborness, his zest for life, his love of food, his way of looking at you as if he were about to say something. But it is impossible to say that is true anymore. The essence of Garth has gone somewhere, is behind a cloud, is in abeyance.

He walks in small circles around the apartment and tries to hide behind furniture. It is hard to tell if he is agitated mentally, in pain, or both. The only thing that works to calm him down is to hold him in our arms, in a chair; sometimes after a bit of resisting this he will relax and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. But even then, he does not seem to notice us, as his people; it's like we are furniture.

This morning we went back to the vet, two weeks after these symptoms first sent us there. In this time, he has gotten better, gotten worse, gotten better, gotten worse. Today the vet looked at him and shook his head. There was a different quality in the air. With infinite gentleness he gave us our options.

Tomorrow we are going to the dog neurologist in Manhattan. Stories that begin "We are going to the dog neurologist" seldom end happily, nor do I expect this one to.

I am very sad. But not sad the way I was this morning.

In the afternoon, when he woke up after a nap, we went outside. Walks have become a source of torment in the past few days; he walks in circles, lurches slowly, looks miserable, refuses to pee. The pitying looks of passers-by upset me, or the careful pretending not to see, the way one turns away from amputees or the deformed. People with dogs cross the street to avoid us, in case whatever he has might be catching. The trying to pretend things are normal, and the way that normal keeps getting worse.

This afternoon, I don't know why, something shifted in my heart. It was a beautiful afternoon, mild and springlike, with the leaves coming out. Suddenly I stopped thinking about Garth as he used to be when he was young (vibrant, perky, able to jump four feet straight up in the air), Garth as I wished he could still be (affectionate, calm, comic), Garth as I feared he would be very soon (dead). Instead, I just looked at him as he was right then, in that moment. Not five minutes from now, or five days. And suddenly saw it for the gift it was. I struggle to put this feeling into words, but there are no words for it, not even approximately. It is what is.