Teusday. Tears sting the corners of my eyes, but don't roll down, as I realize that for the first time ever, Zeno won't be coming with us on this morning's walk. A long piercing whine just after my husband and I hit the hay last night informed me that something was wrong. There was Zeno, on the fourth stair up. I hurried down the stairs to him, and he wasn't moving. I called, and he declined to move, in any direction. Finally, I wrapped my arms under his lower body, and he clambered eagerly up, glad of the assistance. This morning, we brought him downstairs on a blanket stretcher. My husband had observed spasms in his right leg. Now he is lying on the grass in the sun. He can hobble around, for small distances.

My morning walk is uneventfull. "Who's walking who?" a comment I've heard often over the years floats gently over to me as I greet a neighbor working in his yard. I tell him I feel unbalanced, as I normally have one pulling a little ahead (Tiger,) and one lagging a bit behind (Zeno.) At the Fernhill off-leash area, Tiger horses around with a young jet-black dog who looks like a Pitt and Lab mix. It has to be a black dog, I guess, since that is who I'm missing. When I return, there is Zeno in the front yard where I had told him to "stay!" after a hobbling attempt to come with us. I believe he's had a cruciate ligament tear in the right leg, since he had the same injury in the left leg last fall. I've already been through the song and dance with a veterinarian surgeon--surgical repair would cost about $3000, or more, with all the extras factored in. The money isn't here right now. Zeno would be in recovery for about 10 weeks, and need to be assisted for a great deal of that time. I'll assist him without the surgery, and he will heal, slowly, just as he did last year. His age also plays into my considerations--he's now over ten years of age, and to put him through the surgery just doesn't seem fair.

Disease and death have both made their appearance this morning--Crystal, our cat, has killed another rodent. It is either a mouse or a young rat. This is Crystal's fourth kill since we've moved here. She alway places her trophy dead center in a walkway or doorstep, for our appreciation. My daughter considerately buries the remains. As I am writing this, a Western Scrub-Jay is loudly screeching outside the window, and Zeno is quietly resting in the front yard. I believe he's stationed himself there, because greeting us, and sending us off has always been important to him--and he can still accomplish this, with less movement from a front yard post.