The Weekend

As of Thursday afternoon, we didn't expect to have Abby with us for much longer. She had vomited her supplements and, I think, voluntarily. She went to the water bowl immediately after I gave her the pills and drank a ton of water - and then threw up. Sure looked intentional to me. So when afternoon rolled around and it was time for more pills I told her, "Okay. If you throw these up - I won't try again. That will be it. I'll know." And I fully expected her to throw them up. I had already called Dr. Clemens' office (our regular vet) to give him a heads-up that we didn't think she had very long and we might need to bring her in. But she didn't throw up the pills. And she has not thrown up since Thursday morning. And she's still alive.

On Friday night, I got a half a wag when I got home (not a full wag, but still). On Saturday, she chased a squirrel (not far, nor very fast, but still). On Saturday and Sunday, she ate a few spoonfuls of chicken baby food and cottage cheese (not much, but still). On Monday, she ate dog food at the holistic vet's office (only a handful, but still). Also, on Monday, she barked and "scrambled up" from lying on the dining room floor and "hurried" to join the barking Sam at the sliding door to see what was going on and who was invading (not too quickly, but still). Today, she has eaten about a 1/3-1/2 cup of chicken, broccoli, and kibble; did another "bark and hurry" to the back door; did almost a full two wags for me when she met me in the kitchen upon my arrival home; and was looking out the sliding door for Mike and I when we arrived home tonight (still sleeps most of the time, but still).

So, we are currently learning to not attach to any of these things. She ate today and that's great. She might not eat tomorrow - or ever again - and that's okay too. We are continuing to let her go, over and over again. Each wag is a treat, happy eyes and ears are especially special, her fur is wonderfully soft and she smells lovely (really, she does). We are not expecting anything, except that she will continue to be Abby. Each time I hear her breathe, it's music, because we don't know how long we'll hear that music. But then again, we never know how long anyone has. How can we all "live like we were dying" to quote a country song? I'd like to take this presentness and awareness into many more days of my life and that's my intent. Perhaps this is a lesson that Sam started teaching us two years ago and Abby is continuing to teach us. I wrote a poem recently about my learning from Sam two years ago -

Letting Go
Does Not Mean
Loving Less
It Means
Living More

In honor of Sam and Abby, live a little more tomorrow, with our best wishes.