The Power Of The Dog

I am still really under the weather with a horrible virus that doesn’t seem to be letting up. I went to see my psychic nutritionist today so she could douse on what medicines I should be taking. Nothing I have tried so far is working and she suggested various other things that luckily I have at home, like zinc and some Dr Recweg homeopathic tinctures. I have cupboards full of this kind of stuff, it’s really like the Mind Body and Spirit exhibition in here.

She also reminded me about basic stuff like a good face steam under a towel with eucalyptus. I was going to, but I’m so tired I think I’ll just have a hot bath and read my compulsively readable Rod Steward autobiography. I asked her what the emotional trigger was for getting ill and we both thought it was the horror of dealing with Nutty’s cancer diagnosis…. I was crying solidly for 6 weeks and I know that had everything to do with me getting to a really low physical ebb.

Crying is exhausting. I am all cried out now, except when I am going to sleep and the full horror of what the poor little fellow is going through hits me and I start to worry about the inevitable result of it all. …. But to be fair, he is not suffering so much I don’t think. He is not in pain and is still eating well and wagging his tail quite a bit (except when I am syphoning his flax seed oil mixture that the vet recommended into his mouth. Flax seed oil has strong anti-cancer properties, there is masses of research about it online).

The last few days there has been quite a lot of bright red blood from his mouth, usually when he’s eating. We always have to have lots of tissue paper under his mouth to catch it. We wash out his mouth regularly with a dilution of hydrogen peroxide, which seems to have prevented his tumour from becoming infected.

I see him staggering around the flat, looking a little dishevelled, wobbly, glazed eyes and his bleeding mouth encrusted with blood and think, this is old age. Old age that is usually confined within old people’s homes and hospitals. But this slow decline towards death is what most of us will face. The papers and TV are full of bright, shiny, young, shouty people and we are insulated against the ravages of aging. I am witnessing nature, in my face, in my flat, in its raw and cruel state.

I hate it of course, but it is nature and there is nothing any of us can do about it. It makes me appreciate my health (when I am not bronchial of course), that I can run, nearly do the splits, hit a tennis ball hard. My body gives me no trouble or pain (she says sneezing).

 I read this lovely poem, Nothing Gold Can Stay, by Robert Graves for the first time a few days ago. It made me think of Nutty, in all his radiant, tawny, golden glory, before he got ill.

Nature's first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf's a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay.   And here is my favourite dog poem, The Power of the Dog, by Rudyard Kipling, after which I named this blog (a tear in the heart is one of its lines). Read it and weep.     The Power of the Dog   There is sorrow enough in the natural way From men and women to fill our day; And when we are certain of sorrow in store, Why do we always arrange for more? Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware Of giving your heart to a dog to tear. Buy a pup and your money will buy Love unflinching that cannot lie-- Perfect passion and worship fed By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head. Nevertheless it is hardly fair To risk your heart for a dog to tear. When the fourteen years which Nature permits Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits, And the vet's unspoken prescription runs To lethal chambers or loaded guns, Then you will find--it's your own affair-- But...you've given your heart for a dog to tear. When the body that lived at your single will, With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!); When the spirit that answered your every mood Is gone--wherever it goes--for good, You will discover how much you care, And will give your heart for the dog to tear. We've sorrow enough in the natural way, When it comes to burying Christian clay. Our loves are not given, but only lent, At compound interest of cent per cent. Though it is not always the case, I believe, That the longer we've kept 'em, the more do we grieve: For, when debts are payable, right or wrong, A short-time loan is as bad as a long-- So why in Heaven (before we are there) Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear? ................................ (Nutty has his own page on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/nutty.nutkin ) This is an excerpt from my new book, Letting Go of the Glitz, one woman's struggle to live the simple life in Chelsea, by Julia Stephenson just out in paperback and available from Amazon and about 3 bookshops.