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Vet put the kibosh on the wonder drugs that keep Shannon ambulatory. Thinks they are making her kidneys worse (not sure how that’s possible) and irritating her stomach. As the wonder drugs leave Shannon’s body, she is having a harder and harder time walking. I think we are coming to an impasse.

A lot of what I’m doing lately, I can’t post about. My internship lately is fascinating (that is, when I’m not waiting around), but these stupid privacy laws restrict the blogolicious-ness of it all. In a nutshell, I’ve been beaten up, hugged, gotten confessions of sexual/physical/verbal abuse, and been clung to - all from people under seven years old. I’ve been to more trailers, inhaled more second hand smoke, seen more neglected animals, and seen more of one county than I have in all the 32 years of my life previously. I’ve met women my age who are grandmothers, people who I’d guess were twice as old than their earth age, and numerous addicts and alcoholics and adherents to houses of domestic violence. I’ve learned that if you want to keep the stress off your face, avoid cigarettes, fast food, and for god’s sakes, METH (scourge of the earth). All this after only two and a half months of my internship.

Amidst all that, I think there’s a place for me to work and perhaps accomplish something.

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A little canine spirit has found me, nixing all my plans of going to the shelter to pick out my next dog, perhaps a neglected adult pit bull, a large boy dog. Instead, I find myself with a five pound girl chihuahua mix, about five months old, bounding around my living room. She is overjoyed to no longer be tethered, outdoors, ignored. Her name is Etta.

Pics, of course, at flickr.

With school, internship, work, and new puppy brewing, sweet Shannon has fallen ill. She is at the stage in her life where I wouldn’t make any heroic efforts to keep her here, but her condition was such on saturday that the veterinarian convinced me to bring her to the clinic (staying several hours late to see her). I suspected that Shannon was in serious renal failure (she’d had mild chronic renal failure previously), which we found out was indeed happening, but poor girl also had a raging Urinary Tract Infection.

After having to euthanize my last dog, the reknowned Perseus, my views on euthanasia have changed greatly. I feel my dog deserves to go through a dying process, without her nervous human companion freaking out, and taking her to the vet’s for a cold death in an exam room. My plan has been to keep Shannon comfortable, and let her go at home, in familiar surroundings, when she chooses to go.

However, there wasn’t any way I could NOT treat her UTI, and maintain her comfort, too. I told the vet that we were definitely in doggie hospice mode, that I don’t expect Shannon to live forever, and that I’m (really trying) to not cling to her.* Luckily I can do most of the important things for Shannon at home. Both last night and this morning I put a liter of fluids in to her, subcutaneously, and she absorbed it all, clearly dehydrated from not being able to keep down any food. She ate her boiled chicken this morning (dying at the dellfox household means that you get real meat), and seemed fairly content and comfortable.

But gah, I think I know too much. I’ve seen renal failure cases before, and they SUCK. Luckily (luckily?), I think we’re pretty far in to this, so she won’t have to linger like a lot of animals I’ve seen (know anyone on dialysis? kidney failure is simply crap de la crap for all species). Does kind of leave me in a rough spot as far as my new philosophy on euthanasia, but I think I’ll have to cross that bridge when I come to it (so to speak).

Who’s got separation anxiety now?

*While sniffling and crying at the vet’s, the most perceptive, fat, and hairy clinic cat, Prince Daniel, climbed in to my lap. He remained there for most of the visit, changing positions for his comfort, putting his paw on my shoulder, or wrapping both paws around my arm. I got tenuous Shannon up to leave, and Daniel resumed his position in the chair by the door. As we passed by him, he made my day by comically swatting Shannon’s ass.

A tag from Ryan has actually inspired me to post, so here are Six Totally Unspectacular Things About Me, for your reading mundanity:

1. I have a bit of a blog obsession. Google Reader only makes it worse (I have 43 blogs in my list). I love to read life stories. One of my favorites lately is Matt Logelin’s. His writing is sparse, yet meaningful - his photography says a lot more.

2. Despite being practically narcoleptic, I have a hard time falling asleep at night. However, tv and talk radio have me asleep like bells have Pavlov’s dogs drooling. I used to listen to AM talk radio on a timer to get my zzz’s, but now that I live in east bumble, I can’t pick it up. Instead, I rely on my portable dvd player and netflix to chill out for the night.

3. The comfort of my feet is of prime importance. I love my Earth shoes. If it has a pointy toe, I recoil in horror.

4. I have witnesses: mealtime, low blood sugar, and I’m delivered raw mushrooms = crying. I love cooked mushrooms, but the texture of raw mushrooms freaks me out.

5. All my life, a radio listener: I love the spontaneity of switching stations and ending up on a song long forgotten. I love road trips and finding local npr. At work, I am addicted to kexp in seattle, particularly John in the Morning. When the friday song comes on, I’m psyched.

6. God forbid you have to be my office-neighbor. I make that guy turn down his radio 10 times a day, usually yelling something like, “What? Are you fifteen years old?” Good thing neither of us hold grudges.

On this past week: at least I don’t bruise easily.

He wasn’t so close as to actually wake me up, but for the first time since living in the rurality, I heard the crow of roosters as I dragged myself out of bed this morning.

Why is it that white supremacists always look like total douchebags?

Rev. Alane Cameron-Miles and her right-reverent words.

I have learned, after two days under my belt as an intern at Dee-FC$, that I’m not a very good whisperer. Ironically, I’m awesome at mumbling.

I’m a little lonely, a little tired of driving, but slowly figuring out what is me out here. What I like, I’ve decided, my schadenfreude mind has made up, is the dying stuff. Towns, houses, cars.

Today I drove through Colbert, and was just fascinated by what was no longer there. A gorgeous little garden, squared up by a hedge, and a sign that said, “No bicycles here!” But there was nothing else, either. Old mattresses peeked through (shop) windows, thoughtful wrought iron work neither protected nor beautified the ghost of a Colbert business. I wanted to live in one of the houses that backed up to the falling down bricks of this lost town. I dreamed of fixing it up, bringing back color (besides the green weeds that grew where they wanted), not unlike a woman who is dating a broken man for the same reason.

Saturday I was intent on picking blueberries at a local farm, but instead got distracted by Maysville, my small town neighbor. I stopped at a house, falling apart, next to a church, well kept. I was surprised by the insides of this house. The multitude of toppled over classroom desks invaded my fantasy of the forgotten parsonage.

I don’t know much about Schmap, except that their rep with me is currently glowing, as they’ve decided to use one of my pictures for their listing on the Spanish Monastery in Miami. woot.