The Devil's Bargain Ch. 12

Freya started limping. Had she hurt herself? She wouldn't let me examine her closely - in fact, when I tried to probe the area with my fingers, Freya snarled and nipped at me. She had never done anything like that. That was a clear enough message. I took her to the vet.

They took a set of some of the most expensive X-rays in human history. It's a mystery to me why hairdressing salons can charge such extortionate prices, but I had learned firsthand that pet owners are also routinely fleeced. I could afford it, but there are many who can't.

I got the bad news: Freya had hip dysplasia (border collies are only one of the many breeds that are prone to it).

- "If she was an Alsatian, I would recommend trying to reduce her weight, or restricting her exercise." said the vet.

I could only shake my head. Freya didn't have much weight to lose, and restricting her exercise would be taking away one of the most important aspects of her life. It was akin to asking me to go without sex.

"We can do physical therapy, and there are medications... anti-inflammatories, or even steroids..."

That didn't sound very promising. Expensive, of course, but that wasn't the main issue: what would it be like for Freya? Border Collies usually live from 10 to 17 years. Freya was 13. In cases like this, you end up hearing that phrase 'quality of life'.

First things first: I moved Freya's bed and all of her toys to the main floor. I had to put her in the living room (which Mom never used). I'll say one thing for Mom: she didn't make a fuss about it. Freya was the closest she'd ever had to a grandchild.

The move was to spare Freya the trouble of going up and down stairs. It struck me at once that I'd rearranged Mom's house so that two of its occupants would be able to live on the ground floor.

Freya didn't like the medication that the vet had prescribed. I couldn't hide it in her food; she was too smart for that. She invariably found it, and refused to eat it. I tried mixing it with meat, or with her favourite treats, but that only worked a third of the time.

Finally, I resorted to a new morning ritual. For years now, I'd been giving Freya a natural supplement to keep her coat healthy: cod liver oil. Believe it or not, she loved it. I shouldn't have been so surprised - after all, the dog loved to roll in anything smelly (the more disgusting, the better).

So I began to stick the medication in her mouth, and then hold it closed until she swallowed. Only then would I give her the stinky cod liver pill. Everybody was happy.

Then, in July, Mom had a stroke.

It was a mild one, the doctor said. Her speech was slurred, and she had trouble with one arm and hand. She wasn't paralyzed, or anything, but she had serious problems with her balance and coordination - even handling a fork or spoon was difficult.

Mom was often in pain, and got tired easily. The doctor prescribed a whole series of exercises, to help her regain control.

- "She should recover in a matter of months." said the doctor.

- "How many months?"

- "It could be six months. But it could take longer. Just be thankful that it wasn't a more serious stroke."

Sue had taught me a great deal about strokes, information gleaned from her years of volunteering with the foundation. Once you have a stroke, it's usually only a matter of time until you have another. And they get progressively worse.

The long-term prognosis for Mom wasn't great, especially given her age and physical condition. But she didn't ask, and I didn't tell her.

I couldn't help it; I just felt a little sorry for myself. Sue, Freya, and now Mom. Some say that trouble (or bad news) often comes in threes. Thanks.

What I needed, at that point, was someone like Lisa. Or maybe someone like Holly. Or Brenda. Support, a lack of complications. Sex would be nice, too. But it was more the knowledge that there was someone who cared about you, willing to help shoulder your burdens when it became necessary - and even sometimes when it wasn't.

It was precisely what I'd provided for Sue, until I realized that she didn't appreciate the gift, or value the giver.

It had been six years since my bargain with Tansa. I'd used eight of my fourteen chances - now I had to be much more selective, and more careful with the ones I had left.

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