You can't get a porter to help you with this type of baggage.
The emotional kind.
The gut-wrenching telephone call in the middle of the night. Smoke coming over the hill from the valley of your little home town.
Or bloody diarrhea. (Sorry about the word, but there is no way to get around it.)
Last week, I took Jiggs for a walk. He obviously did not want to go very far.
That did not surprise me. His left rear leg has been giving him a rough time. So rough that he needed my help to get up off the floor, and to carry him up and down the stairs at the house.
I had decided to take him to the veterinarian after our walk. But then it happened.
I grabbed a sample, put Jiggs in the truck, and we were on our way to Manzanillo to see the veterinarian.
The veterinarian was very encouraging. Simply an intestinal infection. A week's worth of antibiotics should clear it up.
That was Saturday. Even though he kept drinking his water, Jiggs stopped eating his dry food. I tried everything. By hand. Dampening it. Trying to prime his appetite with bread. Nothing worked.
The odd thing is, he would eat the bread. And he would eat a small amount of canned food.
That went on for four days. On the fifth day, for no apparent reason, he broke his fast. He ate his full dinner. You can see by the photograph that he has his old spirit back -- and a good portion of his Oregon haircut.
Last Sunday in hello, dollars, I set out my expenses over the past three months. Almost 20% of the total was for Jiggs -- the largest portion going to veterinarian bills.
Owning a senior dog is not a cheap proposition.
The emotional kind.
The gut-wrenching telephone call in the middle of the night. Smoke coming over the hill from the valley of your little home town.
Or bloody diarrhea. (Sorry about the word, but there is no way to get around it.)
Last week, I took Jiggs for a walk. He obviously did not want to go very far.
That did not surprise me. His left rear leg has been giving him a rough time. So rough that he needed my help to get up off the floor, and to carry him up and down the stairs at the house.
I had decided to take him to the veterinarian after our walk. But then it happened.
I grabbed a sample, put Jiggs in the truck, and we were on our way to Manzanillo to see the veterinarian.
The veterinarian was very encouraging. Simply an intestinal infection. A week's worth of antibiotics should clear it up.
That was Saturday. Even though he kept drinking his water, Jiggs stopped eating his dry food. I tried everything. By hand. Dampening it. Trying to prime his appetite with bread. Nothing worked.
The odd thing is, he would eat the bread. And he would eat a small amount of canned food.
That went on for four days. On the fifth day, for no apparent reason, he broke his fast. He ate his full dinner. You can see by the photograph that he has his old spirit back -- and a good portion of his Oregon haircut.
Last Sunday in hello, dollars, I set out my expenses over the past three months. Almost 20% of the total was for Jiggs -- the largest portion going to veterinarian bills.
Owning a senior dog is not a cheap proposition.
Tonight I went to dinner in Barra with my professorial neighbor. We rambled through such topics as Aristotle, how the mind processes information, the future of Mexico -- the usual dinner conversation banter.
At one point, while discussing the dog, he turned to me and said: "You know, you are doing a very noble thing. It is not easy to care for an old dog."
I found the adjective strange. Noble. Perhaps, from the outside looking in, it is.
But I truly have no moral choice to do other than what I am doing. Professor Jiggs has given me the best years of his life. And he still is banking those dollars in his old age. The fact that he insists on being near me at all times is as touching as any experience I have had in my life.
I thought about leaving him behind in Oregon -- because the trip would be too hard for him. And it was a rough trip. Just as this heat and humidity has been rough for him.
But I suspect that if he had a vote in the matter, he would have chosen to come live the adventure.
Noble?
At one point, while discussing the dog, he turned to me and said: "You know, you are doing a very noble thing. It is not easy to care for an old dog."
I found the adjective strange. Noble. Perhaps, from the outside looking in, it is.
But I truly have no moral choice to do other than what I am doing. Professor Jiggs has given me the best years of his life. And he still is banking those dollars in his old age. The fact that he insists on being near me at all times is as touching as any experience I have had in my life.
I thought about leaving him behind in Oregon -- because the trip would be too hard for him. And it was a rough trip. Just as this heat and humidity has been rough for him.
But I suspect that if he had a vote in the matter, he would have chosen to come live the adventure.
Noble?
Nah. Paul Anka knew the answer. It's just puppy love.
