For breakfast. Even when I do my best to work through stress, my diet gives me away. I even managed to muck up my standard no-fail chocolate chip recipe this week. Instead of the delicate, buttery, chewy bites that Alex adores, I ended up with something puffy and cake-like. They were soft and gave easily as my teeth sank into them with a satisfying slowness, and the melting chocolate and butter unwound slowly across my palate. Alex was not happy and shared that fact with some good-natured ribbing. Regardless of his opinions, he easily ate his fair share. I realized afterwards that these cake-like bites were exactly what I needed to get me through a difficult stretch, so perhaps my unconscious mind knew what it was doing.
Inky is fading slowly. He’s sick in a very big way. This past week, we’ve been back and forth to the vet with him more times than in the past year. He’s been my faithful companion for what seems like forever. He and Patty walked down the aisle ahead of us when Alex and I were married, and they’ve been with both of us for the duration. He was a rescued dog and has beebees in his hip and chest. Inky is the sweetest, gentlest dog, and has won over many who claimed not to like animals. As he’s aged, his hips have gotten progressively weaker, and he can no longer walk very far. Through it all, he’s been unflaggingly cheerful and energetic, within his capabilities. Last week, the system started to break down. It seemed to be just a urinary tract infection. Now, he can’t eat, can’t keep anything down, he’s feverish, he trembles and shakes more often than not, he’s listless, there may be a growth in his intestines, and this morning, Alex had to carry him downstairs from the bedroom. It’s all happened with dizzying speed. He’s the best damn dog ever, and I see some tough decisions ahead.
The cookies? Well, caffeine and sugar will get you through anything, or so they tell me…
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