Thirty-One Days in August

August was a long month, but I'm still doing what I do.  Catch up on this little project of mine at the links below if you're new to the blog.

Thirty-One Days in March (Part 1)

Thirty-One Days in March (Part 2)
Thirty Days in April

Thirty-One Days in May

Thirty Days in June

Thirty-One Days in July

Thursday – 01 August 2013

After at least a month-long hiatus, my old feral friend Tomorrow showed up again this morning.  She's still as reluctant and aloof as ever but I'm happy she's back (and I don't really like cats).  

Song of the Day: 18 Miles From Memphis - Stray Cats

Friday – 02 August 2013

Beer Friday.

Song of the Day: Unto The Breach - Clutch

Saturday – 03 August 2013

I started a new piece today.  I call it night, but that name feels sophomoric and I'm not stoked about it...any of it really.  A day spent in the studio is never a bad day though, right?

Song of the Day: Henry Lee - Nick Cave and P.J. Harvey

Sunday – 04 August 2013

My pseudo-vacation out west took an unexpected turn this afternoon.  I write about it here.  

Song of the Day: Rocket Queen - Guns 'N' Roses 

Monday – 05 August 2013

Pikes Peak nonsense.

Song of the Day: High On A Mountain Top - Loretta Lynn 

Tuesday – 06 August 2013

Today was come-to-Jesus day, whether I wanted it to be or not.

Song of the Day: If It Be Your Will - Leonard Cohen

Wednesday – 07 August 2013

He's exhausted from yet another adventure but he's still hanging in there.  I thought we had lost him this week and I've never seen a sweeter sight than his little face when I got back to Atlanta tonight.  This old man's got a great big heart and a few more squirrels and birds to harass I hope.  To be honest, I'm just happy he's still here right now.

Song of the Day: White Daisy Passing - Rocky Votolato 

Thursday – 08 August 2013

Best friends back together again.  Perfection.

Song of the Day: You're My Best Friend - Queen 

Friday – 09 August 2013

The new normal?  Yep.  Whatever it takes, right?

Song of the Day: We Are All On Drugs - Weezer 

Saturday – 10 August 2013

Free advice from the neighborhood.

Song of the Day:  Spanish Pipe Dream - John Prine 

Sunday – 11 August 2013

I had a Sunday afternoon walk with my little guy and of course some manic ball time with my other favorite knucklehead. He seems to be doing okay with the new routine so far.  I hate giving him the shots but he doesn't seem to mind.  It was good to see him out in the sun and active today – it was a tough week...for him and me.

Song of the Day: I'm Still Standing - Elton John 

Monday – 12 August 2013

Played mediocre golf at a tournament up in Cartersville today.  Not a bad way to start the week I suppose.  Plus I got a sweet piece of luggage for my meager efforts, so I guess that's something.

Song of the Day: Eat the Rich - Motorhead 

Tuesday – 13 August 2013

Random ATL: West End

Song of the Day: Betty Was Black (Willy Was White) - Todd Snider 

Wednesday – 14 August 2013

Random ATL: Old Fourth Ward

Song of the Day: Head like A Hole - Nine Inch Nails 

Thursday – 15 August 2013

Dusted off and took this ole girl out for a spin tonight.  First time in too long.

Song of the Day: Oh Roberta - Slaid Cleaves

Friday – 16 August 2013

Maynard had his first Glucose Curve today so we can hopefully get his blood sugar levels under control.  He's not eating as regularly as he was when I first got back from DEN so it's hard to keep his insulin regulated...curve results come Monday.  In other news, I saw what I perceive to be the first autumn leaf fall out of the sky tonight. 

Song of the Day: To Be Young - Ryan Adams

Saturday – 17 August 2013

Out killing time this afternoon, I took a stroll through Oakland Cemetery   What a wonderful eerie place especially on a day such as this.  Reminded me of New Orleans.  Can't believe I'd never been there before.  I'm anxious to get Maynard's results Monday.  He seems a little off the last couple of days but I'm sure my overactive imagination is just doing what it does.

Song of the Day: Don't Let Me Die In Florida - Patty Griffin

Sunday – 18 August 2013

Perfect early morning with the Sunday paper and the kids and a whole lot of nothing.  Lazy, rainy afternoon with the same + homemade vegetable soup and grilled cheese sandwiches = solid win for the home team.  Little man had all his bites and meds – it was a good, good day. It makes me optimistic about the future.  (Fingers crossed.)

Song of the Day: Ruby Soho - Rancid

Monday – 19 August 2013

Maynard had a rough evening and is in the ICU again tonight.  He had a violent but brief seizure as I was trying to feed him dinner.  We will know more in the morning when his specialist gets in, but I'm afraid that we might be rapidly approaching the end.  I couldn't sleep when I got home so I pushed some paint around on the canvas I started a couple weeks ago.  Might be a long day coming tomorrow. 

Song of the Day: Flirting With Time - Tom Petty

Tuesday – 20 August 2013

Two weeks ago, up in the mountains I finally came to terms with the gravity of Maynard's eventual passing – I had no idea that it would come this soon.  We had to let him go this afternoon and the peace I felt two weeks ago is gone tonight. He was strong to the very end and went out like the rock star that he was always.  I wish I could say the same for myself.  I feel broken.  

Song of the Day: Ripple - The Grateful Dead

Wednesday – 21 August 2013

Maynard used to sleep on the bath mat outside the shower every morning.  This morning Belle was there when I stepped out.  It's funny how dogs know what humans need, even more than humans sometimes.  It was a dark day, complete with morning thunderstorms.  The sun came out in the afternoon though and I spotted some new blooms in the hedge.  I won't say it was this thing or that but it might have been.  

Song of the Day: Up Above My Head - The Jayhawks 

Thursday – 22 August 2013

Maynard was cremated this morning.  I sat in the chapel holding all that was left in this world of the little guy and completely lost it.  I rushed home for some ball time with Belle, just to do something normal you know?  It's good to have Maynard back home, my little family back together.  Yes, I'm aware of how crazy that probably makes me sound.  

Song of the Day: No Depression - Uncle Tupelo

Friday – 23 August 2013

Bought a small pile of wood on my way home from work this afternoon.  I think I need to get in the workshop and do something positive with my hands tomorrow.

Song of the Day: All The Young Dudes - Mott The Hoople

Saturday – 24 August 2013

A productive day in the shop.  A couple more coats of poly and Maynard will have a suitable final resting place (he would hate that flowery crap they sent him home in!).

Song of the Day: With My Own Two Hands - Ben Harper

Sunday – 25 August 2013

Making up for lost time with this sweet face. All. Day.

Song of the Day: Suite: Judy Blue Eyes - Crosby, Stills & Nash

Monday – 26 August 2013

Finished little man's new home late this afternoon.  I think he'd like it.  

Song of the Day: The Secret Of The Sea - Billy Bragg & Wilco

Tuesday – 27 August 2013

We put Maynard to bed tonight out by that old pine tree in the back yard.  She gets it.  Belle knew exactly what was happening and she paid her respects...as much as a manic bird dog can.

Song of the Day: To Live Is To Fly - Cowboy Junkies

Wednesday – 28 August 2013

Blue.

Song of the Day: I'll Fly Away - Rising Appalachia

Thursday – 29 August 2013

Suburan D.C. site visit distraction at Manassas National Battlefield (First and Second Battle of Bull Run).  There is Jackson standing like a stone wall. Let us determine to die here, and we will conquer. Rally behind the Virginians! I love being near history.

Song of the Day: Dixieland - Steve Earle

Friday – 30 August 2013

Quiet.  Good book.  Good night.

Song of the Day: Keepin' The Faith - De La Soul 

Saturday – 31 August 2013

Disappointing start to this football season but at least football's back (even if my alma mater appears to have forgotten how to play it).  #hailstate.  Tomorrow is September and will be better than today...I'm sure of it!

Song of the Day: Getting Better - Tesla

Letting Go

It still feels like I need to do something drastic.  I could shave my head or cut off a finger or something…maybe get Maynard’s face tattooed over mine or join a church or a gang.  I don’t suppose that will change anything, but pretending to be normal sure hasn’t worked thus far.  The amazing outpouring of condolence and encouragement has been overwhelming and comforting more so than I ever thought it could be.  I appreciate it more than anyone will ever know.  He’s still dead though and I have had a hard time dealing with that inconvenient fact.  The finality of that reality is tripping me up – I keep thinking he will be there when I open the front door.  As it turns out, I’m ill-equipped to process this level of grief.

Sylvia Plath once said, “Some things are hard to write about. After something happens to you, you go to write it down and either you over dramatize it, or underplay it, exaggerate the wrong parts or ignore the important ones. At any rate, you never write it quite the way you want to.”  That’s probably as true as anything I’ve ever read about writing in a general sense and certainly applies to what I’m attempting to write.  I don’t know what else to do though – I can’t very well go get a Maynard tattoo on my face now can I?  Everyone deals in a different way; this is what I do.  Forgive me if I ramble. 

Had I known the mark he would leave on me, I’m not sure I would have ever accepted him into my life.  No one wants to ever be made aware of their shortcomings and I was / am no different.  I’m not sure when the switch flipped for me about Maynard.  It was probably long before I wrote this blog post  but it was about then that I became acutely aware of what he did really mean to me.  Without dredging up the past, a significant relationship was ending for me at that time.  His and of course Belle’s care were foremost in my thoughts and if I’m honest I suspect that my dedication to those two was a surrogate, especially at first for the commitment I couldn’t, for whatever reason, give their Mom.  (Yes, I speak about my dogs as if they were my children – they are my children.)  It was not only comforting to know that they were waiting on me to come home from the office but that they genuinely wanted me to be there, they needed me there.  Maynard especially became the confidant I didn’t have in human form throughout that winter.  I’ve always said that I’m more of a dog person than a person person and he got that.  He embraced it.  I remember vividly, sitting on the front porch with him one night and having the talk.  I made a promise to him that night late in 2011 that I would never leave him.  I verbally and emotionally committed myself to this old ass wiener dog more so than I ever have had the balls to do the same to an actual human being.  (The folly of that should be dealt with at some point, but not tonight.)  It was me and him against the world from that point on.

A friend of mine suggested recently that I should write a children’s book about Maynard; the lessons he taught me, the long shadow he cast.  That’s a wonderful idea but this is still raw. There is a splendid irony that’s not lost on me though in the concept of me endeavoring to write a children’s book of all things.  For now, I just want to talk about my old friend.

There was nothing more perfect in Maynard’s life than his cheeseburger, an obnoxious squeaky chew toy.  This was his favorite since he was a pup and he brought it into my life with him.  So as not to lose my mind, I extracted the squeaker.  He still loved it.  “Where’s your cheeseburger, Maynard?” and he would dart off into wherever and bring it back shaking the shit out of it, triumphantly.  After years of love, we had to retire the cheeseburger but replaced it with the doughnut.  It wasn’t a doughnut at all…just another obnoxious squeaky chew toy.  It took him a minute but he quickly loved that one the same way.  The day before he died, I asked him, “Where’s your doughnut?” and he hobbled off after it as best he could having never lost his affection for that dumb thing.  He understood the simple and pure child-like joy of nonsense.  What a lesson, right?   

After he was diagnosed with heartworm, the docs put him on among other meds, Prednisone.  It’s a steroid that made him epically thirsty and have to pee all the time.  It helped open up the passageways in his lungs though so whatever.  Maynard was a runner for most of his life and he was out the back door and down the steps every time the door opened.  As he got older, it became harder and harder for him to get down the steps – eventually impossible for him to get down or up.  I can assure you that the last thing I ever wanted to do was cart the little man up and down the steps to pee every (30) minutes but that’s what I did.  When his appetite started to go, I would just wait him out.  I bought him multiple varieties of food over the last few weeks and he hated them all.  I mixed them together, threw in a little peanut butter sometimes and he would usually eat, but he was stubborn (as he had always been).  I don’t remember the last day I got to work on time as a result – my priorities had shifted without me even knowing they had.  I am a deadline, time constraint; get it done on a schedule guy by nature.  There’s value in that, yes but there’s no point in always rushing and there is no timetable for how actual life should happen.  I’ve never been a patient person, but I quickly became one in order to care for Maynard this summer.  That was a good thing for me and it has translated into my everyday life. 

To say that I was committed to Maynard would be the understatement of all time.  But I don’t know if I ever truly understood the meaning of the word before I met him.  It was hard at times this summer to see it all the way through, I admit that.  It would have been easy, I suppose for some if not most people to let him go in May when we learned of the heartworms.  It should have been even easier to let him go when we found out he also was diabetic. And still easier with the pancreatitis and liver disease and finally Addison’s.  It would have maybe been easier to put him down at any one of those hurdles, but I couldn’t do it.  I couldn’t because I was committed to his life in a way that I’ve never committed to anything else.  If he had to have a special diet and I had to give him insulin shots twice a day, so be it.  If I had to monitor and adjust his glucose levels every day, so be it.  None of it mattered.  I stayed committed.  I think I’ve always thought of commitment as a one-sided affair until Maynard.  He saw that I was devoted to keeping him alive at nearly any financial or emotional cost and he reciprocated by staying alive, no matter how bad it hurt him to do so.  We postponed the unavoidable as long as we could by being so blindingly loyal to each other.

I could go on, but I won’t.  No matter how adeptly I write this, it will never capture the profound impact his life and ultimately his death has had on my life, on me as a person.  Empathy, compassion, peace, honesty, commitment, responsibility, pride, accomplishment – these are all concepts I thought I knew but never internalized fully on a personal level until Maynard.  Yeah, it sucks that it took a dog to make me a better man, but that’s what is.

Last Monday started like every other recent morning with my trying to bribe Maynard into eating his bites.  A couple spoonfuls of last night’s soup and a finger of peanut butter were about all that he would take.  He was in good spirits though, so I didn’t think much of it.  The docs had said as long as he didn’t miss (2) insulin shots in a row he’d be fine so he toddled off back to his bed and I left for work. 

He was at the front door when I got home Monday afternoon, excited as ever and ready for dinner.  Belle inhaled her food as usual and ran out the back door.  I put out Maynard’s (3) choices and went to the fridge to prep his insulin.  Before he could walk over to the bowls he began to vomit and as I reached down to comfort him, he collapsed onto his side and convulsed violently for what seemed like eternity but was only a few seconds.  It quickly passed and he stood up and stumbled to the water bowl.  I called Belle up, wrapped Maynard in a towel and went immediately to GVS.  I can’t describe how it felt to see him lying in a pool of his own vomit, his body being rocked by a seizure.  This had never happened and I knew but couldn’t admit right then, that it was the beginning of the end.

Another late evening in the ICU and another sleepless night later, I got up anxious to hear how he was doing Tuesday morning.  Monday night’s episode had been caused by an abnormally low production of glucocorticoids by his adrenal glands combined with off-the-charts potassium levels in his blood, or Addison’s Disease.  The treatment would be to first get him eating regularly again.  Without that, we couldn’t get his blood glucose level under control and until that happened we couldn’t attack the other.  If that was successful, we’d then start him on a battery of additional medications, including Prednisone which made him miserable, twice monthly visits to the vet to monitor his adrenal hormone production and monthly deep tissue hormone injections.  All of this would be for the rest of his life and would be in addition to his twice daily insulin shots and Slidenafil and doesn’t consider the fact that we had never resolved the original heartworm issue, or the pancreatitis and liver disease.  Did I mention that he was going blind and could hardly walk from the bedroom to the kitchen or that more often than not I had to hold up his back legs so he wouldn’t fall over into his own shit when he had to go?  All of that notwithstanding, at first, I just accepted it.  If this is what it was going to take, so be it.  We’d come this far, you know?  My mind was racing that morning but at some point, I realized that I had to stop being selfish. 

It was just too much for him – and for me, if I’m honest.  We have been to the brink of death with Maynard multiple times this summer and that emotional rollercoaster definitely took its toll on all involved, especially Maynard.  It took that journey for me (and him I think) to see finally the decline in his quality of life.  After additional unlikely prayer on my part, we made the difficult decision to let him go. 

The rest of that day is a blur.  He had visits from his first owners in the afternoon and I’m told he enjoyed a little bit of baby food before we got there.  SB and I had some time with him before to say our goodbyes, reminisce a bit about fast puppy and tell each other how much happier he was going to be.  I had secretly reserved the right to change my mind at the last minute, but when I looked into his eyes the light was gone.   He was exhausted.  It was time.  Letting him go was the absolute right thing to do, but it doesn’t make it suck less.  I had supposedly prepared myself for that moment all summer but face to face with it, it just did not seem real.  There is no way to prepare for something like this. 

As I had promised him, I was there right to the end.  At 5:13 PM, 20 August 2013, the doctor who had been treating him since the beginning looked at me and said, “His heart has stopped beating.”  I closed his eyes.  My face is the last thing Maynard ever saw in this world.    I physically could not let go of him.

It’s been just about a week since he passed, and I’m just now starting to get myself back together.  I’ve been cool and the gang one minute and a sniveling pile the very next.  The smallest things sat me off, up and down, restless, completely erratic.  I was reminded of a Robert Frost quote recently that goes something like, “The only way out is through.”  That’s exactly what I’ve tried to do and it’s been weird but I don’t apologize for it.  Whatever my process has been it has brought me ultimately to a sense of peace, to the acknowledgement that Maynard had one helluva good and long life. He was fourteen years and nearly a month and his every day on this earth was filled with joy and excitement and spirit.  I had forgotten over this summer just how energetic he had been once, what a huge personality he had, what an unshakeable confidence he had in himself despite his small stature.  He became somewhat of a celebrity at our local vet and at GVS over the last few months – everybody always loved him.  I’d forgotten how playfully aggressive he had been towards Belle at first, how adamant he could be about anything and everything.  He was my perfect road trip co-pilot, my Sunday afternoon nap buddy, my bro at the bar watching a basketball game.  He was / is my family.  Persistent, dedicated and supremely loyal to his very last breath.           

This weekend I made him a proper final resting place; I used red oak.  It’s strong, just like he was and is a damn sight nicer than that flowery tin the crematory sent him home in.  At sundown tonight, Belle and I spread some of his ashes in the back yard around the base of that pine tree in the corner he used to love to root around in so much.  I put the rest in there with his collar and his doughnut and some other things I thought he’d like.  This final symbolic act helped me put a period at the end of this sentence, you know? 

I’d like to think there’s a heaven for dogs like you, but I’m not sure.  If there is, you are definitely there because you were one damn good dog Maynard.  You’ll always be with me in my heart little man.  You were my best friend, my constant companion and I love you buddy.  I’m not letting go, but I have to rejoin the land of the living – live in the is, not the was; that’s what we always talked about, right?  Rest in peace old friend, nobody deserves it more than you do.

      

Maynard

25 July 1999 – 20 August 2013

First One Fall

I sat on the front porch tonight reading yesterday’s morning paper and unexpectedly witnessed what I’m sure must be the first falling leaf of autumn trail peacefully across the stone gray evening sky.  That’s probably far from truth being that we are barely mid-August, but I’m optimistic.  It’s been a peculiar summer even by ridic ATL standards, with seemingly near constant rain showers and 80 degree day absent humidity nonsense.   I could take or leave summer anyway so that’s fine, but it’s distracting.  Plus I know it’s just another cruel tease perpetuated by this criminal Southern climate and almost guarantees a blurring of the lines between seasons in the coming weeks.  How will Indian Summer know when to do its thing if actual summer never really got organized enough to show up?  Either way, the subversive chill and that single still dead leaf resting silent on perfect green grass tonight makes me question this night’s air. 

It reminds me of bad music played through poor stereo speakers in cheap pickup truck beds and Saturday morning birdsong wakeup calls.  Deep buried bruised souls, frantically bouncing toward one another daring the other one to blink inside a kudzu green field of poignant adolescent forgetfulness.  It conjures images of weekend master plans devised in dimly lit back seat boardrooms and disseminated to the huddled cadre via citizen band radio, gravel back road odysseys to hidden kingdom cocktail parties laced with potential sandpit courtship and bonfire gymnastics. 

This resplendent tentative cool of the night’s air makes a body want to throw on a hoodie and drink bourbon.  Tomorrow is just around the corner and only a shade past yesterday.  I have too many books to read before football season.  I just saw the first one fall though and that is a beautiful amazing thing.

Out West / Back East

I was scheduled for a final site walk at one of our projects last Tuesday, so I flew into Denver Sunday morning for a mini-vacation prior to.  The oddity of business travel is that you are always going to but you never really get anywhere.  I have recently however, made a conscious effort to get some local everywhere I go and as this was the last site visit, I saw an opportunity to do a little more than the ordinary.  I took it.  I of course had a list of what I wanted to do/see and I of course didn’t do/see a lot of what was on that list.  The things I did manage to accomplish were wonderful.

After the comped upgrade to first class, on-time blue sky flight and Tesla playing on satellite radio when I fired up the rental I felt like I was on track for a perfect Sunday afternoon.  Driving into Denver, I decided to quick-hike the Arsenal.  I’ve written about it on this blog and always enjoy my time there with the deer and prairie dogs and whatnot. 

After a tasty Big City Burrito, I headed downtown.  I fill my quota of city in ATL everyday of the world and being around humans didn’t make the list but there are at least (2) buildings you are obligated, as an architect to visit when you are in the Denver area – Daniel Libeskind’s Denver Art Museum and Michael Graves’ Denver Public Library.  In simple terms I view Libeskind as inaccessible and Graves as a sellout and there is a measure of truth in both of these trite assessments but neither is entirely fair.  They are both rock stars, and I admittedly resist rock star architecture with nearly every fiber of my being but sitting on the street curb between these two buildings I found myself drawn to both. Equally.  The symbiotic tension between the two disparities is predictable but also compelling, if not shocking and overwhelming. 

On one hand the museum grows out of the earth with seemingly random exuberance; its surface fracturing and reaching out and retracting and opening up at the perfect moment to reveal itself.  It’s not confined to its site or even to the rigidity of the street grid within which it resides.  It’s expressive.  It moves and changes with the passing of the sun, it’s dynamic – it’s everything that isn’t static.  It’s the sporadic journey of artistic creation exemplified in built form.  It’s an art museum.

On the other hand the library is exactly what a library should be, but with a wink and a nod in placid defiance.  It’s ordered.  It’s virtually symmetrical.  It’s post-modernism at its finest – a reinterpretation of the known; what the world has become accustomed to understanding as public architecture – but it’s different.  There’s a colonnade but the columns are not of a classical order.  There is a rotunda but there isn’t a dome.  The materials are familiar but the colors are unique – there is actually color (gasp) on this building, virtually a cardinal sin among architects before Graves. But it’s still a library. 

Built more than a decade before the museum expansion, I couldn’t help but wonder how I would have perceived it alone.  How would I have encountered, how would I have experienced either building without the other?  What would my assessment of either be without the other one standing diagonally across the street screaming at the top of its lungs the exact opposite of what the other one was screaming back in response? 

I sat there in the warm afternoon sun attempting to reconcile these thoughts with what I view architecture to be, the principals upon which I’ve inadvertently started to lay the foundation of my career.  I don’t often allow myself to venture into the high-mindedness of what architecture can be – the work that I/we, my firm does is architecture with a very specific purpose.  What I realized is, that so were both of these very dissimilar buildings.  They were both hyper-purposeful, actually the very essence of specific intention.  Is it possible that the nonexclusive club of the other 99% of architects (of which I’m a member) is just as important as the rock stars?  Am I the sensible bridge between the pedestrian and the philosophical?  It was as profound a moment as I’ve had professionally or personally in a long time.  I didn’t appreciate at that moment that the entirety of my time in Colorado would be a study in dichotomous juxtaposition, that my being out west would be defined by the events unfolding back east.  Then my phone rang.

Word from back east was that Maynard was lethargic, not eating and effectively paralyzed in his hind legs.  He was vomiting, listless.  It sounded worse than his other recent episodes and I couldn’t help but fear that we were approaching his end.  I knew that he was in good hands and there was nothing I could do so I just sat there, frozen in time.  I resolved to bury my worry in nature come Monday.  I went to bed with a heavy heart.  I didn’t sleep much.

Sunday night came and went.  Monday morning I was up and out at the crack, determined to disappear into the wilderness and deal.  Pikes Peak was way up on the list and only a thoroughly entertaining hour or so drive to the south, just west of Colorado Springs.  I drove straight to the top with thoughts of hiking around the summit.  The thin air at 14,000+ feet persuaded me to drive right back down said mountain to an altitude more suitable for a forty-one year old hiker (smoker).  This place was incredible though, like nothing I’d ever seen, literally as high as or higher than many of the airy clouds trailing across the crisp sky.

The peak was too populous and I found the solitude I sought around the mid-range of the mountain.  I hiked for what should have been days but was only a couple of hours.  In the magnificence of nature I did what I never do and prayed to God or who or whatever is up there pulling strings to pull my little Maynard through this struggle.  I was wrought with bouts of depression and buoyed by fits of wonderment in rapid succession.  I was seeing an environment, a world I’d never seen but I was racked with guilt for having a good day.  I was relieved that I didn’t have a phone signal and felt like an asshole for not being back east.  The morning sucked.  The morning was amazing.

Garden of the Gods, Manitou Springs and a long drive later I got back to the hotel exhausted to find out that Maynard had been diagnosed as diabetic.  If we chose to extend his life, he would have to be on a prescription diet and I’d have to give him twice daily injections of insulin – this was the best case scenario.  He still might have pancreatitis, liver disease and who knows how any of this affects his heartworm treatment.  I was surprisingly relieved to finally at least know something.  I phoned a friend I thought might give a damn and silently begged for wisdom and insight that they couldn’t possibly have or give.  I went to bed knowing that a decision had to be made and that I didn’t have the balls to make it. 

I woke up Tuesday morning with a sense of dread and despair like I have never known.  I had obligations to the client and I fulfilled them as I always do, but my heart wasn’t in it like it almost always is.  The project turned out better than expectation and I’m proud of the final product.  It’s vernacular.  It’s appropriate.  It’s the client’s image almost perfectly.  Said the primary broker, “It’s the best building of its type in Denver.” Business complete, I excused myself with an incredible desire to get back up into the mountains or anywhere other than right there.

I bolted to the west side of town.

Hiking up and around Genesee Mountain I spotted some deer up ahead on the side.  I thought it would be a good idea to stop and check it out.  I was rewarded with the closest contact I’ve ever experienced in the wild to the wild.  They didn’t seem to care that I was in their house and they just did what they do.  I sat in the tall grass and tried not to freak out.   This was exactly the experience I had hoped for when I came out west. It was about then that I started to understand some things about what was happening back east. 

For the first time in I guess ever, I realized that no matter how much money I spend, I can’t keep Maynard alive longer than he is supposed to be alive.  He’s brought nothing but joy to my life and I’ll always believe I did the same for him.  It’s ridiculous that a little old weenie dog could make me a better man, but he has done exactly that.  If I’m honest, I sat on the side of that hill, watched those deer mill about and had a good cry.  I came to peace with the unavoidable fact that Maynard is near the end of his natural life and if he is ready to go I should let him.  So after much soul searching, I made the decision to not make the decision until I saw him again.  He’d let me know, right? 

That was that.  Back to Atlanta.

Late Wednesday night, I gave Maynard his first insulin shot and he took it like a champ.  I stayed home Thursday to watch him and monitor his glucose levels.  Just after noon there was a big storm and I was lucky enough to witness this little slice of perfection.  

It’s only then that I knew I had made the right decision.  These two are the opposite of each other.  If there is any purity in any dichotomy it’s right here.  If ever the beauty of juxtaposition was more fully revealed, I've never seen it.  Belle is young.  Neurotic.  Full of life.  Maynard is old. Super chill.  Dying.  They can’t get through an afternoon thunderstorm without each other.  They are best friends and they still have a little more time together.        

I just took Maynard out for his evening walk and it sucks to see him stumble around the back lawn where once he ran like the wind.  He certainly isn’t who he used to be but he still has a will to be alive – even barked at my neighbor for no reason.  He hates it when you try to help him out (stubborn to the end) so I let him find his own way. He hasn't stopped fighting so I can't stop being there for him.  I kicked myself all week for being out west and not back east when Maynard needed me the most.  In the end, I realize that it was for the best.  

Without that separation, I don't think I ever would have come to terms with Maynard's eventual mortality.  I've been tense since May when he first got sick.  Now I can finally relax and simply enjoy the rest of his life.  Whatever happens will happen and I'm finally okay with that.