762

          “The pain passes, but the beauty remains.” 
                   
                   – Pierre Auguste Renoir

This morning Bella and I went out to "play catch"...that's what we call it when I chuck her tennis ball and she retrieves it.  It was a beautiful morning, clear and cold.  She made a half dozen retrieves and then decided to sit down on the hillside with her ball in her mouth, looking back at me.  I thought it was odd, but I never push her in these situations.  When she wants to sit, she sits.


I approached her and asked if it was all OK.  She remained sitting and I decided our session was over.

"Wanna get a treat?", I asked.

Her ears perked up and she stood.  We turned for the house and she ran ahead of me, albeit at a pretty slow pace.  She hadn't worked hard enough to cause this slow pace...was it old age?  Was it the cancer?  I admired the silky feathering on her rear legs, knowing that I'd see that a limited number of times.  I thought about the end approaching and my eyes welled up.

This is only going to get tougher.

We came in the house and I wondered if the warm air felt good to her.  I gave her a treat and she followed me to my office, pausing in front of my bathroom where she often took a drink from my toilet.  Hey, she's a dog.   Before every drink I flush the toilet for her, my attempt to give her the cleanest water possible for a toilet.  I thought about how many times I'd done this for Bella and wondered what the actual count was.

For reasons known to no one, the number 762 popped into my head.  Was it 762?  No, it has to be more times than that, probably in the thousands.  Hell, she's been alive for nearly 4,000 days and this is a nearly daily routine.  So 762 must be way low.  Still, it is some number.  And there are a finite number of flushes ahead for us.

This I know to be true.