A Good Day

Sunday was a good day. 

A good day is when Bailey enthusiastically walks with me to Dupont Circle or a favorite coffee shop (for the superior liver or peanut butter dog treats they serve).  A good day involves a vigorous roll and rub on the faux grass at the dog park followed by all the pets and hugs that can be coaxed from the humans. A good day is when breathing is an autonomic activity requiring neither thought nor effort. A good day is when the morning grooming by one or the other of the cats is calmly tolerated (perhaps, even enjoyed). A good day is when going up the stairs is a single melody of motion rather than staggered phrases of notes separated by rests. Sunday was a good day.

I now wake up and look to Bailey for a daily forecast.  I know that, at this point in her life, time is marked by good days and bad days.  I’ve known this since late November or early December—before the holidays, before confirmation of various ailments by various vets, before telling anyone. Now Bailey has good days and she has bad days.  The good days still outnumber the bad days, but I am sure this ratio will change as she continues to age. The important thing, for me, is to plan each day to make the most of each good one, and to maximize her comfort on the bad ones.  So I look to Bailey each morning for the daily forecast (no iPhone app for this).

Sunday morning Bailey arose as soon as she heard me begin to wake.  She greeted me with a smile and a lick, and became impatient when she determined that I was taking an unacceptably long time getting washed and dressed.  The forecast was bright and sunny. For today. Tomorrow morning, and every tomorrow morning, I will need to look to Bailey for the daily forecast knowing that each day will be different, and that not all will be good.  But that is tomorrow morning.

Sunday was a good day.