Saturday, August 20: She found a quiet space on the forest floor between shadows. Dropping her tennis ball and looking across our trail, Hershey waited on the stony rise. Around her were gnarled Witch hazel trees that bloom in October -- a surprising yellow grove sprinkling the understory. Maybe she will see it this year. With September just days away, she may walk beneath that bright burst amid otherwise falling leaves, but the cancer is moving faster than the seasons.
Sunday, August 21: Hershey in late August is a gift. Splash, and she is happy in the lake again.
Tuesday evening, August 23. She's slow and uncomfortable, but still wagging.
Wednesday, August 24. A cool morning in the forest through speckled sunlight and yellowed leaves, she shuffles. She sits between cedar trees swishing her tail, panting, ears perked. Hershey likes that spot and always stares down the slope. I don't know what she's looking at, but she's been looking there for years.
One big pain pill this morning to soften the day. Still wagging, but her sides have weeping sores.
She is slowing down step by step and seeks our comfort -- sleeping on the bedroom floor instead of the plush pillow we bought her. So restless in the small, dark hours, Hershey brushes her snout against a hand that I left dangling off the bed. She catches stray moonlight in her eyes and I find her, sparkling. Hi Hershey!
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