A Rough Week

     This hasn't been a very good week.

     We're all kind of run-down and worn-out, for no good reason. There's been lots of doctor appointments and things like that recently, which are very tiring. It's very hot outside. A random hen died for no reason on a nest of eggs. There was the Fourth of July last Thursday. And I'm out of shampoo.

     One of our two cats, Meg, went missing Wednesday or Thursday. We didn't think much of it, other than "That's strange. But, you know, she's a cat, and cats do those sort of things once in a while." She came back about Friday, limping. Probably bolted from the fireworks, trying to hide, and then got run over by a car on the highway. Then she willed herself back to the barn, where she died a slow and painful death.
     I know it's part of life, and she was only a cat. And I didn't even know her that well. But still, she was a cat, and a good mouser, and everyone else loved her very, very much. It's hard.

     The church picnic was Sunday night, it's held about once or twice a summer. Lots of sitting on blankets and lawn chairs and talking about nearly every subject imaginable. And eating good food. I kind of floated from group to group, listening here, watching a little kid there, that sort of thing. There was this soccer game that got going late in the evening, kids and teens and adults all mixed together, I was taking a turn at goalie. A corner kick came in from the left side, the ball was juggled around. It bounced wildly off one lady's foot, straight into my face. She didn't mean to hit me, obviously; and the ball didn't go through the net, but I think I'm gonna have a good-sized black eye in a couple days. A small scratch showed up just above my left eye.

     Monday morning we're going about the morning chores when Mom rushed back into the house. "Skeet is dead!" We stare blankly. He was just lying there on the ground, just like he was asleep and didn't wake up. You don't expect a healthy three-year-old dog to just suddenly die out of the blue....
     It hurts. A lot.
     He wasn't the smartest dog ever or anything, specially not for being equal parts border collie and Australian Shepherd, but he was good. A little excitable maybe, but friendly. And very, very kind to Amy.
     It's very hard.

     And so now Sunny is all alone in the backyard, with a body growing frailer and more tick-ridden by the day. Her right eye is blind, her hearing starting to slip. Joints are stiffer than they used to be. But there are still memories intact, for both me and her. But she's lonesome. And we all ache, so much.