Just Chilling

... on our very cold tiled floor in the hall. It's warm outside, but the hallway is cool, so we've each got a mat on the floor.

The dogs are happy first thing in the morning, and roll over for tummy inspection time - a morning ritual. As soon as it's obvious I am actually going to get out of bed, rather than lie there groaning, they like to roll over and wave their legs in the air. Then of course I have to get up to tell them what marvellous tummies they have. By evening, they're both giving their celebrated impressions of a dead dog by the roadside, lying with their necks at impossible, fractured angles, and with their breathing scarcely visible. If I go over and check on them, they huff at me.

I had a great trip to Woolfest at the weekend. It's a long drive from here, 3 and half hours each way, but worth it. I've come away with a year's worth of inspiration and addresses. I now also want some North Ronaldsay sheep, that don't need shearing, their wool just falls off, and they're little and cute, and... I have nowhere to put a sheep. And Angora rabbits are out of the question, given Holly's hunting abilities.

Bad IT Day

Just as some people have bad hair days, I've had a bad IT day at work, with no connection - problems with my log-on apparently. When I had the nerve to say, after lunch, that I couldn't do anything until they fixed it, the IT helpdesk guy said it was all the fault of our department's service level agreement. Huh? We signed something saying we agreed it would take all day for the helpdesk to fix anything?

Very glad now to be at home with Herbie. Home is where the PC works first time, and there is food in the fridge - oh, and a giant ironing heap left over from yesterday. Went to the annual Jerry Green dog show - could have happily acquired a 3-legged Staffie and a brindle boxer with half his jaw missing. I always take family with me to these things, so they can talk sense into me. The boxer was very bouncy, and Herbie's in no fit state to be bounced on.

Confined to Quarters

A quiet weekend in, but not by design. Driving home after work on Friday, the gearstick came off in my hand as I was changing gear. Panicking, I managed to jam it into third, and succeeded in limping home the last four miles. There's a steep hill just before home, and you really need to be in first or second... just made it.

It's moments like this when you realise how English villages have had their services cut in recent years. Our village shop closed down three years ago, there's no pub, bus twice a day to Malton, er... that's it. Oh, and the lady with bantams down the road occasionally sells eggs on a cardboard box outside her house. If you want proper-sized eggs, it's a three-mile walk to the next village with a shop, and three miles back.

Still, it's left me with plenty of time for Herbie-observation. Miraculously, the nodes at the back of his knee have shrunk again. The CV247 is doing something. If only it could do more.

A Little Better

I've had some world-class reassurance from Richard Allport's team at the Natural Medicine Centre and they think that even reducing the dose of CV247 down to 1ml twice a day would help. I've tried that this evening, and Herbie ate his yummy organic mince and red cabbage without noticing that I'd sneaked the drug in. We'll see how it goes.

Someone else who could do with a good thought or two is Laurie Kaplan, author of "Help Your Dog Fight Cancer", a book I found massively reassuring, and that I've recommended to a number of people on Greytalk and elsewhere. Laurie has recently had spinal surgery and is in recovery - read about her journey here. The pictures show just what a big deal this is - I hope she recovers well, and continues her good work helping dogs with cancer.

Totally Given Up

I'm veering between apathy, despair and a teenage sort of a sulk. Herbie has been refusing his CV247 the last couple of weeks, so I've been resorting to trying to squirt it down his throat, which doesn't work and he spits it all up and... I've given up trying. Disguising it with a little curry powder in his favourite scrambled eggs doesn't work, he can detect it in sardines, he's doing everything he can to tell me he doesn't want any more. This weekend I finally listened. And cracked, and gave him biscuits, after he's spent 18 months on a carb-free diet.

Two years ago, I would have wrestled demons at the gates of hell to save him. Now, I can't even stop myself giving him a dog-biscuit. What is wrong with me? I think I may have finally accepted that I can't change the outcome, and I've given up. Last year, I echoed Edna St.Vincent Millay: "I know. But I do not accept. And I am not resigned." Now, I've reached: "Whatever..."

So tired. CV247 was supposed to save him, but I promised him after the last chemo I wouldn't do anything invasive. Holding him by his sore neck to syringe bitter liquid down his throat is invasive. I had to admit that to myself. So, really no more treatment. Painkillers when he needs them, that's all. And strangely enough, he's been bouncing about like a wallaby ever since.

No news

... from me, but sad news over at Jenna's Tail - Jenna didn't make it. Sometimes blog silence means there's nothing much to say, but sadly it sometimes means there's plenty say, just not enough strength to put the words together. Run free, Jenna.

A sunny and quiet week here, but my attempts to put some weight on Herbie have led to dire rear. He's not losing weight any more, but I've had to mop the floor a few times. Still trying to get his stomach settled. Sigh. He's been baking himself silly in the back garden, lying out in the sun until he's too hot, then coming in and panting like a steam train. There's plenty of shade, but he likes to sprawl in full sunlight, and I haven't the heart to stop him.