Banjo

“If you want a friend in Washington, get a dog” President Harry S Truman

The practical side of me knows that when a nearly 13-year-old diabetic dog gets that sick, he’ll probably die. He’s the animal equivalent of a 1974 Ford Pinto with 250,000 miles on it. But my practical side has no say in things when it comes to Banjo.  My heart runs the ship.

Banjo is my Border Terrier.  My dog. And my friend.  When others who I believe in me let me down or betray me, Banjo’s there. He’s why dogs are called, “Man’s best friend.”  And even in the ranks of dogs, there are none more loyal.

He nearly died yesterday. His glucose shot off the charts and he threw up and urinated all over the house.  He laid on the couch and barely could lift his head.  A $152 trip to the vet bought a reprieve but he then went downhill again yesterday afternoon. We thought we were going to lose him.

But Banjo is tough. As I sat there, holding him in my arms, I prayed for him.  I know he won’t live forever.  I just don’t think I can handle losing him right now.  We lost his aunt, Molly last November.  It was the same week I had been busted to part-time and Banjo and I became a two-person/dog support group. He was adjusting to being an only dog. I was adjusting to whatever the Hell my new reality was.  He’d sit in my lap as I drew.  He’d listen as I cursed the sky.

He’s lying on the bed right now.  We have a blanket on him and he’s staring at me, half awake.  He could barely walk this morning but has gotten stronger as the day has passed.  At least he is eating. And I think we’ve gotten his glucose levels back under control.

I listened with interest to the opponents of the animal cruelty bill. Some seemed to think that we have a right to abuse dogs and cats because they are lesser creatures.  I feel sorry for people like that. I guess they never had a dog like Banjo.

Here’s some advice he gave me earlier in the year.  I don’t know how long I’ll have Banjo in my life. But I thank God for every day He keeps him around.