Whew! Too much to do, plus I have to finish binding the books I'm going to have on display for the art show. It's just about as busy a schedule as today was.

Today started for me at 7am, when I heard Skottie barking his head off. For some reason, I thought that meant that something bad had happened with Trooper, so I threw on a pair of pajama pants and ran down the stairs, only to be met by Mom, in her coat, leading Trooper by his leash back inside. She couldn't get him to go down the cellar stairs to go out, so she had to quickly shower, get dressed, and take him out. She said that he was pretty sluggish and unresponsive this morning, but once he got in from his walk, he seemed a little better. His back legs weren't going where they should have, but he was getting better.

Mom went to work, and I set up all the stuff that I'd need in order to get books bound by the end of tonight. I realized that my story Balloon Girl was going to end up being two very small pages, and that wasn't going to make for too exciting a book. I thought about it for a long time (always a bad sign), and decided that it would be better to put the story into a handmade decorative box, and place some sort of balloon-like object inside.

I quickly assembled five cardboard boxes, and then went out into the world to find supplies for this project. Why I didn't just bind the other two stories is beyond me, but for some reason, it was essential that I get this ridiculous story just right. So I tramped around a party supply store, but all the small balloons they had were latex, and I can't touch latex, so I went to Michael's.

You'd think in a craft supply store, there would be some representation of a balloon, but you'd be wrong. There were no balloon pins, or buttons, or wood cutouts, or anything at all. I got incredibly discouraged until I found, of all things, a soapmaking kit (the pre-made glycerin kind, not the full-on, use-your-own-lye kind) and some molds. The molds were round, and would fit neatly into the boxes I had made. I bought them, plus some string to center in the middle of each piece of soap (so the soap would look like a balloon), and some paint for the boxes.

I then went to Staple's for some vellum, because I thought the drawings Suzanne had made for me would look much nicer on vellum than on regular paper. Staple's had some terrific paper, and I bought a ream of vellum that's meant for laser printers, and then stopped in my tracks when I saw some mini-CDs that were in the shape of business cards.

My story Circles is perfect for a high-tech approach, so I bought the CDs as well as the paper and then headed home.

I managed to paint the outside of all the boxes before it was time to put Skottie and Trooper into the car for the vet. Neither one quite knew what to do with each other, as niether one had ever been in the car with the other before. Eventually, they each settled on their own windows, and I went to pick up Mom.

The good news is that Trooper is still here with us. The bad news is that the vet said that Trooper is ready to go at any time, and that it's up to Mom and me to decide when that time is. Her conclusion was that the cancer has spread to the lymph nodes on Trooper's backside, and it's causing pressure on his spine, which means that he is very slow to respond when he's trying to walk, and that he has very little sensation in his back paws.

This creates a very dangerous situation for Trooper to be in. He could very well hurt himself if he got it into his head to go upstairs while Mom and I were out at work someday, and then fell. He wouldn't be able to tell where his legs were from underneath him, and he'd essentially be lying there with non-working legs all day long.

Worse yet, the vet said that this is progressing pretty rapidly, and soon (she didn't say how soon, but it sounded like much sooner than we expected), he won't be able to use his hind legs at all. At that point, there will be no choice for us to make. A dog that big can't get through life without working hind legs. He's too heavy to be carried anywhere, and even if we could do so, he wouldn't be able to function normally.

So his time is very limited. The vet said that whenever we choose to bring Trooper in to have him put down is the right time from here on out, and we thanked her. I brought both dogs to the car and cried just a little bit when I realized how little time I have left with my old buddy. Mom said that the vet was very kind to her while she was paying the bill, telling her to call her "anytime" if she needed to talk about Trooper's situation.

He's still here, and he'll most likely be here tomorrow. Beyond that, it's day-to-day.

I felt so rotten about Trooper that I called The Fabulous Robert and cancelled our trip to Northampton for today. I felt terrible doing so (I think this is the third time I've cancelled something on him), but I would have been miserable company. Instead, I painted the insides of the boxes and then headed over to the Consulting Company for our last Art Show Committee meeting before the event itself.

I brought Chris' miniature table with me to show them what the larger table looked like (it's exactly to scale, with all the same materials used), and the response was unanimous: Everyone wants a tiny table for themselves. I don't know if the big table is going to be a hit, but Terry, Lara, Bernadette, and everyone on the committee said that they wanted a tiny table of their very own. I said that Chris would be thrilled at the prospect of churning out hundreds of tiny tables for small change when what he excels at is large-scale installations. It's his own fault for making the damned thing so adorable.

The committee set forth a really agressive schedule for getting everything together for the show. Tomorrow afternoon/evening, we have to do the fine arts upstairs; either hanging paintings and photographs or putting them on easels. Then the next day, we have to help set up the crafts portion on the third floor. That's going to be a bit easier, as each craftsperson will be able to set up his/her own table. Luckily, the only backdrop I need for my stuff is Chris' beautiful table, and since his piece is far superior to anything I could make, it kind of takes the pressure off me.

After the meeting, I went back to the design department to tell Laurie about Trooper, and Dan walked by. I asked him if there was any news on the job front (did I mention the drama involved in that? The short story is: right after I sent out my, "Goodbye, design!" e-mail, I got an e-mail from Jan telling me that there had been a hiring freeze, but she wasn't sure whether or not that would affect me. I've been waiting in limbo ever since; sure that I wasn't going to get this job), and he said no.

I decided to take the bull by the horns and went upstairs to see Jan. She greeted me with a great big smile and said, "I've just written you an e-mail. You are now officially a member of our department!"

She told me to sit down, and we talked about what I would be doing and how pleased she was to have me on-board. She said that I would find the job "easy" (hah!) and that I'll like everyone (which I don't doubt, as I've met them all, and I like them all so far). Jan is an incredibly easygoing person to talk to, but I know she's very strong-willed when it comes to getting what she wants, and it appears that she really wants me for this job. I find out what my office situation will be once it all gets sorted out, but as of now, I am officially a member of the knowledge management team.

Relieved, I went home and put the second coat of paint on the inside of the boxes, then reprinted the pages I had for Balloon Girl so they'd fit into the boxes themselves. Robert called me to invite me to dinner, but Mom had decided that we needed some comfort food, and made my absolute favorite dinner in the world; chicken pie. I apologized once again (poor man won't want to have anything to do with me after today), and sat down to dinner. Sean showed up halfway through. He accompanied Heather to a special ultrasound that's given when you have a family history of heart conditions (which we do). This also allowed them to find out the gender of the baby.

It's a girl.

Three for four in terms of the next generation of Clearys. Poor CJ is alone in his maleness, though a cousin nine years his junior isn't going to be that exciting no matter what sex it turned out to be. Sean and Heather, being the prepared people that they are, have already started looking for a name for their daughter. (Do you know how hard it is for me to write anything about "Sean's daughter"? He's still my little brother to me.) So far, the front-runner is Madeline (pronounced Mad-eh-lynn, not Mad-eh-lyne), which I think is a lovely name. However, Heather's family on her mother's side has a tradition of giving the first female child born the middle name of "Linn" (I think it's a family name, or else the spelling is just some way I've never seen it before). "Madeline Linn" is a little bit clunky, I think, but maybe they'll buck tradition and go with a different middle name. Heather seems rather attached to the idea of passing it down, though.

I suggested "April," because I always thought that if I had a daughter, I'd name her "April." It works well with the middle name, too. "April Linn Cleary" would be a very pretty name for a little girl. Sean said he liked it, but I'm not convinced he liked it overmuch.

Whatever the name is, I'm thrilled to know that I have another niece coming along. Having grown up with two brothers and no sisters, it's still such a novelty to have all these women in the immediate family. There's Susan and Stephanie and Heather and Cassie and Julia and Unnamed Niece, now. The women outnumber the men in the immediate family at this point, which I think pleases Mom to no end.

So, one life is slowly slipping away as another is starting to take shape. Heather says she can't feel the baby moving yet, but the doctor told her that won't come for another week or so. Every day, we see Trooper losing just a little bit of control over his own body, and his doctor told us that we'll know when it's time for him to go.

It's such a cliche, but it all goes around. It's heartbreaking and exhilarating all at once; knowing that the end is near for someone I've known for such a long time and looking forward to meeting someone who isn't even as big as my fist right now.

And I have only just finished the boxes to hold my little story. It took three tries to figure out the best way to place the words into the box top, lid, and inside bottom (spray glue, as Mod Podge seems to curl it up no matter what I do), but they sit in a row on the folding table I used as a crafts area today. Trooper is lying beneath it, snoring his heart out, and I'm about to close the living room door on him (so he doesn't slip on the kitchen floor or attempt to go up the stairs) and go to bed.

The rest of the books are waiting to be finished. As are all the stories that are beginning or ending as I write this one. As every story waits to be finished. Or begun. Or to find its way to a satisfying middle point.