My knees are cold.

For the past 5 years or so, there has been a greyhound in the bed with me every night that I’ve slept in my bed at home. I could wake in the middle of the night from a wonky dream or because my sinuses are again waging war on my respiratory system and reach just behind my knees and find a warm furry body…and a soul that reminded me that I wasn’t stuck in a never-stopping elevator or trapped under the stairs at the Manchester airport, but I was home with my furry family and it was okay.

My knees are cold.

On Friday morning Scott and I made the decision to cease treatment of Profile’s tumor that had invaded the muscles that spread over the top of his skinny little pointed head. The vet told me things like “mottled places on the skull” and “could degenerate quickly” and “small chance of relief from surgery.” I heard over and over “it’s done, you now have two greyhounds instead of three, and your knees are going to be cold.” Just like that…I walked out into the parking lot at the vet hospital and called my parents, crying my eyes out, while Scott made arrangements with the vet. Just like that…I woke up that morning and had three, now I had two. Just like that…Profee walked into the back area of the vet’s office, as proud and brave as ever, and I never saw my handsome man again.

But I’m okay. Much more okay than I thought I’d be. I cried a lot, but I’m done crying, at least for now. I packed up his collars and muzzle and put them out of sight till I’m ready. I cleaned up the toys he’d thrown around the den and vaccumed his hair out of the carpet. I loved that dog so much…Profile and I went through injuries together, he helped me be steady when my vertigo hit, he could understand me in two languages…he was always looking out for me, even to go so far as to look into the shower to make sure the water wasn’t hurting me. But I’m okay.

Urban Family asked me to join them Sunday night for dinner, and when I spoke to my dear friend in Yorkshire he said that he was glad I was out with people because apparently all of them thought I was going to put my head in the oven just as soon as I got back to Montgomery. Not so. My oven is electric anyway, and I don’t do crispy.

So to my Profee-Man, My Noodle, My Bubby-Boy, godspeed. Thank you for the past six years. There is so much of it that I couldn’t have gotten through without you. SO much. Thank you for listening and for not minding if I got your fur wet when I needed to cry. Thank you for ALWAYS knowing when to lick me on the end of the nose, especially right after you’d licked something unpleasant. Thank you for the crop circles you left in the leaves out in the backyard, and for the bits of plastic bag that I’m still finding in the den from the last time I took too long to let you out. Thank you for finding your way back to me after you were adopted that one time. Thank you for finding me, I’d been lost for a very long time.

Much love, Noodle. MUCH love. My knees will be cold but my heart is warm.


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