The title – it’s the name we called Homer basset and Abbygail basset, the day we brought Homer home. Tim asked me what we’d call them when they grew up and I’m sure I made some flip or sarcastic response. The thing is, over 11 years later they are still the “basset babies” or “the babies”. (It’s a good thing we didn’t ever have children – we’d have never let them grow up.)
Today, Homer is in the hospital. He is in Denver and is likely to undergo surgery on Thursday. I don’t handle this very well. Married to a veterinarian, I am used to being able to be there the whole time, watching and observing, holding and hugging immediately following any procedure. That is not the case this time. It is hard for me, really hard. There is some invisible sense of control that goes along with just being there and none of that is there right now.
I am aware I am upset about something in the future and not right now, but that’s the case. Homer isn’t sleeping at home and Wally basset wanders around looking for him. My feelings for Homer are immense, full, gigantic and enormous. My love for all the creatures we share our lives with is like that. Nothing much bigger exists.
In my head, I realize that there isn’t alot I can do – I can think positive and optimistic thoughts; I can project that he will be running around the yard in 6-8 weeks. In the meantime, my heart aches.