071207

I wake up this morning in between the rain. The glimpse of sunlight peeks in through the clerestory window in my bedroom, dissipating my dream. The moment I open my eyes, I have one thought only in my head--that I am not ready to face this day.

My French lop named Snow is ill. He hasn't eaten since Sunday and he is malodorous. I must make another century mile round trip to take him to the doctor. At eight years old, however, he has lived three years past the average life expectancy for lops. My hunch is that this may be his time.

Too many deaths happened in the last few weeks. I am not ready to face another, especially when it is a physical death of a living being.