For now

For now, you’re still my buddy.

I can hear you snoring behind me as I write this. I’m glad.

I’m glad because your gentle snoring means that you’re not in pain, not stuporously shaking your head trying to dislodge a tumor that you don’t understand is there.

I’m glad because it’s clear you feel safest when one of us is with you. A dog feeling safe with me is a high compliment.

You’ve sprung back before. They said weeks or months, certainly not a year and it’s been over a year. We’ve had a few low spots along the way. A time or two I wondered if it was time.

Perhaps we’ll get another reprieve but I doubt it. Too many symptoms, too little energy, just too…

It won’t be tonight, I don’t think. We hope you are still here when your girl gets home tomorrow night. But of course, it’s not about her or me. It’s about you and it’s my last duty to an old friend to know when it’s time.

Not yet, though.

For now, you’re still my buddy, snoring on the carpet behind me. And I'm glad.