I returned home last night to the middle-of-nowhere Denver airport after a 45-minute flight delay from Oakland and a frustrating half hour waiting in the cold wind on a diesel-fumed island waiting for a shuttle bus to the far-away parking acreage. When I called home from the car to check in, Pat let me know that Mdog was ill, with no appetite and no interest in her walks. He even cooked eggs, one of her favorites and she walked away from her bowl without a bite. When I finally arrived at the house around nine o'clock she seemed happy to see me, but I could see the difference from a week before.

This morning I took her to a nearby vet, and had them really look into her condition. She's about 80 years old in human terms, so I was relieved to find that while there were a lot of small irregularities, there was no major problem that could be considered a crisis.

One of the possible causes for the heath scare the vet suggested was the presence of some recent stress. When I told her I had just returned from six days away from home, she gave me an 'aha' look. "I can tell she's really atatched to you", she said, "and that could be the cause, or part of it". This unfortunately reinforced my fear that Mdog wouldn't cope well with my being away at this point in her old deaf life.



Now I have a pile of medications to sort through two or three times a day for the next week or so.

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