Age and infirmity kept coming up as topics of discussion today. Obviously I've been watching the news, and am aware of Senator McCain choosing to end medical intervention for his terminal brain cancer. I feel like most of the country, in that any and all philosophical differences I might have had with him are unimportant now. I'm left with nothing but respect for his lifetime of service. I wish him minimal pain and maximal peace as he winds down his time with his family.
I got more texts early this morning, describing progress on the tiny cabin. The Mr put the fixed window up high on the east side, where it will provide light but no air flow over the "cathedral ceiling" side. There's more OSB siding on the exterior. I commented that it must have been warmer now that there were fewer openings, with walls and windows nearly complete. He said that it was a little better, but Elsa was still very, very cold. She woke him up three or four times during the night to pee, and she shivered in the night chill. Last week we had found an orange shirt tossed on the side of one of the 4WD tracks that we picked up and planned to cut up to use as padding for the stabilizer bar on the ladder (its protective feet went missing long ago). Instead, that shirt became a layer of warmth for my old dog who no longer likes to be out in the cold. Elsa will be eleven this New Year's Eve, if my math is right. She's a graybeard now, and she's content to stay close to home, close to her bed. I think of her as a widow, since her man Speed Bump died this spring. She has always responded poorly to stress, and I worry that it is aging her even faster since he left us. I wonder whether all these trips up the mountain are getting hard on her joints. She doesn't actively complain, but she seems to ride more awkwardly in the truck on the way to and from the claim. And I still feel weird about leaving that massive lipoma on her left hip. I've been assured it's not dangerous, but it looks like half a lime has been inserted under her skin. As long as it doesn't negatively affect her quality of life, I'll leave it, but if she starts to be distressed by it, it's gotta go. She has earned golden years of comfort. It was rough raising her from a big puppy. She took three years to settle down. But since then, she's been a great dog. Smarter than we gave her credit for at first, and the most earnest soul I've ever encountered.
Some of the kids came over to play games this evening. We started talking about the old cats at one point. I said how I still missed Cricket, who died four years ago this week. The disease that ravaged her took her so quickly, and it still pains me to remember that summer, watching her waste away. Rio, who was a couple of weeks younger than her, lived so much longer. We were amazed he made it as long as he did, until just a couple of months ago. And Smacky, Cricket's littermate, is still out there, still hanging on. She has almost no teeth left at all, and she's thin and raggedy. She's not quite as accepting of Ralphie anymore, even though Ralphie still loves her with all her heart. I want that old gray girl to stick around as long as she possibly can. She's now our family record-holder for longest living quadruped. All I can do from here is cheer her on, and be grateful for every moment of joy she gave us, especially our older daughter who has cared for her for the last eight years.
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