Smokey Mountain Breakdown

I woke this morning to find the hoarfrost laying heavily upon the pasture. The rails to my balcony were coated with tiny little prisms of ice. I went out to get the wood for the stove and my breath made clouds about my head. Winter was here.

Aegis licked my hand to get me out of bed, as has been his custom ever since he was big enough to put his paws up and reach me. He was trained to do that and has lovingly performed that task even after I no longer needed him to do so.

I pulled the hood up on my long flannel robe and took him outside. He wants to leave, I can tell. He tries to slink off but comes back when I call him. I won't let him go away in the frost.

I was encouraged that he finally wanted to drink some water. I think the lactated ringers has hydrated him enough that he can at least do that and keep some down. He lays obediently at my feet next to the couch and lets me care for him. The needle dripping life back into him, hopefully. The whites of his eyes look like lemon drops.

I want to ask him to wait for spring. I want to whisper dog language into his silky ears and tell him to wait until there is warmth and blackberries and baby wild rabbits to chase. I want him to wait until that first swim in the creek with the barefooted boys of summer.

"Wait," I say..."For God's sake don't leave me here in the cold."

I want to tell him to wait until the baby goats are here. Aegis loves baby goats. But I don't know if I have any right to do that. Because I know he would unquestioningly follow my orders. Out of love...blind love.

I know that God has a sense of humor. But this...this...is in poor taste.