As Days Go By

Arnold is lying next to me, asleep on the floor. He twitches in his sleep, so I put my hand on him to calm him down. When in deep sleep, he starts to whimper. Yesterday he disturbed Chubs's (who was sleeping on the sofa) sleep.

I look down on him and see bare patches on his fur. He looks much better than when we first found him on the neighbour's doorstep, but he won't win a beauty contest any time soon.

Who would want a dog so damaged?



Ivan declines to sleep over tonight, saying he is particularly tired because of this little black ball of fur. Then, he pauses and says the doggie must have gone through hell to cry like that in his sleep. I tell Chubs the condition he was in when we found him. He says, yes, that's enough to give him nightmares for life.

He's an old dog. He's tired. I wish I had my own place. I would keep him in a heartbeat. Maybe that will be what I have to work on next year. To get my own place so Arnold can have his own little corner (somewhere near me, of course). To get him back from Furry Friends and spoil him rotten.

I decided today I wouldn't run around. I would stay at home and keep him company. I only have him for a few days more, before I have to surrender him to the vet for the various nips and tucks, and then the farm. I had to go out in the morning to post the residue of a present (long story) and buy Arnold some food.

As Dadda was out too, he was a little concerned. (Arnold doesn't like being left alone). He was very happy to see me back so soon, (well, relatively soon, anyway) and watched carefully as I changed out of my "going out" clothes into my chapalang stay-at-homers, after feeding him.

Then he alternated between the kitchen and dining room, as I made my way from one to another, mixing up the Texas fudge cake.

(He's now in twitchy REM sleep)

I have no more deliveries to make. After all, if everything had gone according to plan, I would have been in JB by now. Maybe there's a reason for all this. If I had my car, Arnold would have been delivered up to the vet by now and I wouldn't get to spend these last few days with him.

Arnold was stretched out, now he's curled up. I think he's a little cold. I put my hand on his back and he sighs. His nose twitches. I think he's dreaming of interesting smells. He sleeps with his tongue sticking out. Just a tiny smidge.

His new red studded leather collar is already a little stained. Wonder how he managed to do that. Or where. The collar goes with him when he leaves for the farm. Maybe Sabrina will allow him to keep it.

One thing about Arnold, he never bothers cats. There was a kitten mewing piteously outside our house. Arnold pattered out and ignored her. Chasing cats doesn't seem to be in his ken.

He really is a very gentle dog. Old and gentle and damaged and ever so sweet.

I wish someone else, other than me, someone with land, someone who loved dogs and would take care of him, someone who just wanted him for him and not for what he could do for them, would take him and keep him and buy him a nice fluffy bed and chew toys and send him for doggie massage and grooming and play with him and just appreciate how sweet he is.

He just woke up (I think I'm bothering him) so I sang Hush O Baby, patted his butt and put him back to sleep again.