As much fun as they bring their humans, dogs themselves endure a lot of boredom.  And as much as your dog clearly loves you, don’t kid yourself:  she would, indeed, love you ten times more if you would never stop throwing that ball until one of you is dead, and both of you know which one that would be.   Still, we feel no qualms about raising their hopes with our tail-revving voices and euphoria inducing ear scratchings and mystifying pockets that might, oh please oh please, just might be filled with liver and peanut butter.

This time, though, I feel as fraudulent as the Wizard of Oz, my black bag full of tricks too shamefully superficial to help the really Brave and Meek one get back her very Self.  This time, Glinda ain’t coming.  Nothing will be the same again for Katey, stuck here in Kansas with all of us who have lost something we can never get back, and can make nothing from that loss except accommodation.

She is more beautiful than ever, I think.

The fentanyl patch affixed to Katey’s shaved pink rump ran out of juice in the dark of Sunday morning, less than 24 hours into her first day home.  (Fentanyl is one of the most potent opioids ever invented; I learned all about it on “Burn Notice,” when Michael cons a heroin dealer into using it to boost the value of his inventory.  Try and keep up, people.)

If you have never heard a dog you love crying, then let me assure you, it is an experience you never want.  Ever.  Craig and his mom endured the haunting sound of aches for which there are no words, from 2 a.m. until 5 a.m., as Katey searched for a way to get away from the pain, rising on three legs, only to lie down, then stand again, over and over.  Finally, the vet on call increased the dose of another opiate she was discharged with, but by then her humans were beyond sleep. 

Katey was her usual pettable self when I arrived, alerting her radar ears at the clink of cereal bowls and rustle of bread wrappers from the kitchen;  she knows food when she hears it.  Whatever lingers from the restless painful phantoms that visited before dawn is not more powerful, in her present moment, than chicken thighs in broth followed by cuddles.

Craig will recover, too, although he could be forgiven if it takes something stronger than chicken thighs.