Lunch over Wilf is loaded into the back of the car . A slightly uncertain ' am I off to the vet ? ' look on his face . The vet gives Wilf a full hour of his time . Lots of tickles . The outcome ? Things just slowly shuting down . He doesn't know how ill he is , so he doesn't worry .There's no pain , so no need for pain killers . Restart the Cortisone to ease the breathing and the arthritis . Last weeks flare-up caught in time . One of those things with cancer - ' a candle sputters as it burns ' .
The vet thinks he's happy . Not, the wild, coming to terms with living happiness of a puppy . More like being wrapped in warm cotton wool . A shrinking world of misty edges. Love, trust and routine marking its boundaries.
The vet quotes a line:"Il est vrai que lui aussi doit avoir sa petite chronique" *. Over dinner ' the font ' comments that only in France could a vet quote Beckett and somehow get it right. Absolutely, life affirmingly , beautifully , right . I have to agree. It goes without saying that Wilf does too .