Of Quick Effluvia

It was a rough night. Fips had a seizure at eleven and another at three-thirty. I held him tight and stroked his head, which seemed to help. I gave him added medicine-meat which he devoured as if starved, and this allowed us both to get some rest with his chin resting on my chest or shoulder.

With but little murmurs, he was pretty quiescent in the morning as I deliberately packed everything I had laid out for the trip to Blaine. The border agent, a nice woman, handed my passport back in an awkward flat-handed way. She had placed a little cookie-bone on top.

I have loved this rolling country road through thick woods and undulating fields of green since I got here. It was a beautiful morning to go.

-oOo-

On being lifted out of the truck, Fips couldn't make it and stumbled over his front paws. So I carried him to his hospital kennel where he curled up quietly on a fresh towel and one of my flannel shirts.

There is understanding and there is knowing; and so as we awaited the results of his blood work, I went for a drive.

On my return Fips was snoozing quietly. I walked over to his cage and with a "Hello Little Fipsie" began to stroke his fuzzy body. Suddenly, he began to shake and to emit throaty pain murmurs. I looked at Dr. Jack. "What did I do?" "It's an adrenalin rush," Jack explained, "He's happy to see you but it triggers an overload in his brain."

Say what the use... If quick effluvia darting through the brain;

to die of a rose in aromatic pain? ...

How would we wish that Heaven had left him still...

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