Mood: hug me
Topic: "Mikileaks" (6)
Changes in life occur like turning on a dime, so says Frodo. He believes that the games we play are but a microcosm of the lives we lead, and that disappointment, fumbles, and plain bad calls take place without notice. None of us are immune, and that includes the Hobbits and Mick, the Wonder Dog, among all the other residents of the Shire.
Mick, the Wonder Dog, did not bark at all between Sunday and Tuesday. It became obvious on Sunday evening that we had a "Houston" problem, and that the threat probability was greater than our immediate capacity to cure the cause. It started when he laid down next to Frodo and looked up with confused and worried eyes. He wandered in to be with Sam, and stood in the middle of the room, unable to comprehend what was happening, nor to communicate with anyone. As the evening wore on, and his ambulatory capacity decreased rapidly, the Hobbits feared that the end was very near.
Frodo sat on the floor, holding his little brother, and stroking his fur even while his own legs cramped underneath. Frodo carried him outside to assist in normal relief, and then up to the bedroom to hold and comfort the Wonder Dog, so that no journey would commence, alone. There was little sleep that evening for the Hobbits, and tears cascaded unimpeded from both sides of the bed.
Long-time companion Fiona had sensed the danger first, having spent much of the early evening bathing the forehead, treating the affliction in the only way she knew how. She laid by the bed, on the floor, watching, throughout the night. Mick, the Wonder Dog, struggled on the blankets, getting too warm on one side, and requiring assistance in order to turn his arthritic bones and regulate his body temperature. At last he got the message to Frodo that he, too, wanted down on the floor, trying to get things to some level of normalcy. Frodo kept his fingers moving, all night long, on the neck of his little brother, fearing that he may never again have the opportunity.
He was there in the morn, when Frodo had to prepare for appointments on Mount Doom. Frodo took him out, and watched over him as he tried to evacuate, like normal. Sam prepared a special breakfast, which he ate, ravenously, like normal. He was still weak, hardly able to walk, but his fearful eyes met Frodo's on several occasions, telling him that they were both very frightened. Doctor Porsches is off on Monday and Tuesday, so the Hobbits decided that Sam would monitor throughout the day, and that a trip to an unfamiliar veterinarian while being held in lonesome observation wouild be the worst thing they could do for a member of their little family. Sam called every hour or so to let Frodo know what he needed to know.
When Frodo pulled into the garage in his motorcar on Monday evening, the Wonder Dog paced swiftly to him and placed his ample nose into the crotch of the Hobbit. It was as if, and probably it was that the two cried together. Sam followed quickly behind telling Frodo that Mick, the Wonder Dog, lay by the front door, like normal, waiting for Frodo, and that once he saw Frodo's motorcar, he cried, and ambled out on his own.
That evening and into the night, the Wonder Dog tried, more and more it seemed, to begin returning things to normal. He remained weak, but he ate, as if there were to be no tomorrow. He bedded where he always bedded, and his habits began to return to the schedule which had guided his entire existence.
Most unusual of all was the behavior of Sydney, the cockatiel, who remains high above the fray on the floor of the Shire due to the presence of Beau Neau. Sydney has alternated between screams from above his cage to walkabouts on the floor next to his big friend (who often chases Beau Neau). Sydney has not visited the floor, other than to occasionally drink out of a dog bowl, in many years. To do so now documents his awareness and the perceived need for him to offer whatever assistance or comfort available. The presence of the cat was immaterial.
It is Wednesday evening now, and with every passing moment, life in the Shire more closely resembles what things were like before they turned on a dime. Oh kisses last longer now, and Frodo doubts that he will ever take even a moment with his little brother for granted again. He does not even mind an outburst of barking at the "invisible rabbits" who venture too close to the front door of the Shire, like normal.
It will be nice to sleep a full night, knowing, like normal.