My Hoppsy keeps on hoppin' along

Our Hopps is slowing down these days. She's grown finicky about her regular food in recent months and won't even take a doggy biscuit, so we've resorted to indulging her by lacing her kibble with goodies, like chicken or salmon. She still tries to sneak the kitty food any chance she gets. Last night, we played catch for a few minutes in the living room, something we haven't done in weeks. She can still catch the ball out of the air if I toss it well. She loves that. We travel her speed wherever we go. It takes half an hour to walk four driveways down the road, stopping at every tree, fern, bush and rock, sniffing, sniffing, sniffing. Doc goes along too, and he is quite patient with our plodding strolls. I sneak him out for long, faster walks when she's napping. The past two days she's perked up, with more energy than she's had in a few weeks. I even found a dirty sock in the middle of the living room floor this afternoon. That was a heartening sign. We've been finding socks in places we don't remember leaving them -- the hallway, the bathroom, the living room, the lanai, one here and one there -- for years. It's common in our house for one of us to come upon one and ask, "What's this doing here?" and the other of us to answer, "I don't know. You'll have to ask Hoppsy." I've caught her many time nosing through the pile of clothes I leave on the floor when I'm in the shower. (She thinks I'm not looking, but I can hear her come in, so I peak around the curtain.) She pushes all the other clothes aside until she finds a sock, picks it up, then trots away with it in her mouth. I find it in Ron's office or in the kitchen. She sometimes goes through the laundry basket, or picks up socks we've left by the side of the bed. She seems to like my socks best, though Ron's socks will do in a pinch. She's 15 years old with Cushing's Disease, a tumor on her pituitary that causes it to signal her adrenal glands to produce wanton amounts of cortisol, a.k.a adrenaline. It makes her pant and pace and drink gobs of water. We give her medication to quell the negative symptoms of that, but the tumor is inoperable. It also effects her motor skills somewhat, and has causes seizures, so she gets medicine to prevent that, too. She has developed a funky hop (Hoppsy) when she walks, but overall has adapted well to her condition. We spend lots of time on tummy rubs and ear scratches, and she gets good treats. Hoppsy still can't resist goosing the kitties and likes to bury her chewy bones in the yard. She also torments Doc, saving her treats until he has finished his, then laying next to him to eat hers, taunting him until he starts to whimper. As long as she maintains her passion for orneriness, we know she's feeling OK.

I went to the library yesterday to check out a couple of books, one of which they had (a miracle) and the other available via inter-library loan (also a miracle) that will arrive in a few days. The plan was to check them out, spend an hour writing, pick up a few sundries in town and head home. My butt hit the chair in a quiet corner. I flipped open the laptop to a story I've been wrestling with for days, (as I do all my stories). When I looked up next, three hours had passed. Three focused, productive hours, with no potty break, no drink of water, no dog wanting to be let out or in, no cat jumping on my keyboard, no refrigerator beckoning, "Open me. Stare inside," no husband wanting to chat or ask me to help him with something that he promises will only take a second but takes two hours, no Facebook (I don't get Internet access at the library), no emails to answer, no phone calls. The library. What a great place!

A hui hou. Malama Pono. Aloha.