Imbolc                                                                         Valentine Moon

Vega is home. At Sano, the vet’s, all the vet techs had taken turns holding her head because she wanted attention and love. A sweet thing for them to do. Sano has a palpable caring for their patients and for their humans. Comforting.

Her left front leg is gone, replaced with a long z like incision and an empty space where it once attached. We were both hesitant about seeing without her leg, shock of the new. However, I began to think about it as seeing her without her cancer, without the leg that had caused her so much pain and endangered her life. That made it easier.

Once she came out, she was just Vega. There was no problem. Palmini, the vet, said we’d be surprised at how well she was getting around already. And we were. When I took her out to the car for the ride home, she threw her right leg up and pulled herself in, like she’d always done it with three legs.

Once home we took her around the back so she could enter on the bottom level, no stairs. That was fine. However, after about 20 minutes or so of being home she wanted to go upstairs and get some water. Even though there was a water bucket out for her. She hesitated at the bottom stair, put her right foot forward, backed away, forward again, back again. Then, summoning up something, she marched right up the stairs. She came back down them, too. With me holding onto her collar, more worried than she was.

We bought an inflatable bed for her, put a quilt on it, a warm blanket and some pillows. When she got inside, she walked right past the bed and hoisted herself up on the couch. Her couch. Oh, well. Shoulda seen that coming.

There will be adjustments. She has to go out on a leash for a while and she’s not used to the leash. Our dogs have the run of our fenced backyard and have had all their lives. They walk themselves, in other words. This means she’s not used to having one of us by her side when she’s urinating or defecating. Not an easy change for her.

The important and key point here is that she is home, alive and walking on her three legs. Vega’s back.

Imbolc                                                                            Valentine Moon

Vega’s surgery went well, though it took an hour and a half longer than expected. “She’s a muscular dog,” the vet tech said. Later in the evening a phone call from Dr. Palmini, the vet, “Yes, it went longer because of her muscular shoulder. But that bodes well for her recovery.”

(Vega, orange collar, Gertie and Kepler)

Hard to imagine a close friend of seven years in surgery, losing a limb. Yesterday had its anxious moments. The heart loves who and what it will, from dogs to landscapes, to friends and family and art. Loving Vega has always been easy.

We bought a twin sized inflatable mattress for her recovery. It’s going in the lower level, so she won’t have to navigate stairs while she learns to walk on three legs. I’m sure she’ll be chuffing and organizing our lives again soon.

Imbolc                                                                             Valentine Moon

A bit jittery here on Shadow Mountain. Vega goes to the vet in about half an hour for her surgery, the amputation of her left front leg. It’s a drastic choice and it will change her life, but, we hope, also extend it. And, yes, it’s not cheap either.

When Kate and I married, now over 25 years ago, we brought my bed from my condo and have used it as a guest bed. At some point Vega found her way into the blue room we used for guests in Andover. She found the bed just right. It was hers from that point forward. If we forgot to close the door.

Last night I took my laundry downstairs and forgot to close the door to our Black Mountain Drive guest room. Sure enough, on her last night before surgery, there was Vega, sprawled out on the bed, very pleased with herself. I’m glad I forgot.

She’s been a special dog from the beginning. When we went to pick her and Rigel up from the breeders, Vega had a ten foot stick in her mouth. Her six littermates had their mouths on it, too, running around Junior’s backyard.

Vega is a lady of leisure, but she also has an iron discipline that demands certain things, like feeding schedules and going to bed, happen when they’re supposed to happen. That is, when Vega thinks they’re supposed to happen. She’s gentle about it, first chuffing, blowing air around her big cheeks, then barking softly. At some point she’ll sit, assume her most regal pose and stare. Then, bark again. Perhaps a bit more loud.

A sweetheart. A calm and gentle soul.