Infected.

The bad news is, Betty is sick again, and it probably means she won't be with us much longer. She has new tumors, this time on her spleen--we saw them on an ultrasound. Also, a mass in her thigh that's also probably a tumor. When we took her to the animal hospital for the ultrasound, we also noticed an infection on her front leg, which turned out to be an abcess, which could well stem from a compromised immune system. She was anemic, her gums very pale--it seemed like this all happened in, like, a weekend.

So she's had a blood transfusion which she seemed to be "holding onto," as the vet phrased it. So that's good. They infused her with antibiotics for the abcess, and we're continuing that process, but for the moment it's still pretty ugly, still draining. And the thing about dogs and an ugly draining wound? Apparently it's delicious, because they want to lick it.

This afternoon, after the long-ish holistic reading/bagel/pizza/assessment party, aka the 2010 assessment, I came home a little on the exhausted side, ready to take a little rest. I am having my traditional post-holiday collapse, with a little cold on top, just to make life special. I lay down with the dark little thriller I'm reading, a novel by Arnaldur Indridason called Jar City, set in Reykjavik. I kept dreaming possible directions for the plot, very wintry and subarctic, all accompanied by an anxious music of licking.

When I woke up, I took Betty outside. She wandered to find the perfect spot to pee, then found another spot to bury her face in the snow, then roll in it. Big snow-loving girl. She's happiest in the winter, in the snow.