The Final Countdown

We leave for Spain in less than 8 weeks.  This has led to three events:

1. My crash dieting so I can fit into the clothes which fit only 12 months ago.  Hello, Gym!
2. The daily forgetting to get new passport photos taken so I can renew my passport before we leave.  It doesn't expire until July, but I'm told I'll have issues if I try to travel on one due to expire within 6 months of my travel dates.
3. Our decision to let Scout go before we leave.

Yeah, see? See how I snuck that last one in there?  It has not helped in the accomplishing of #1 or #2.  My Beloved thinks he's started to notice some confusion or disorientation in her.  Her poor hindquarters are more like legs on a tripod than actual legs: she positions her front feet to make a 3-point balance off of wherever her hind feet stop.  Still, it hasn't seemed to bother her.  Until recently.  Recently, we've noticed her panting and acting like she's in more discomfort.

She's still in there, however, which makes this so much harder.  Right now, she's staring at me from the top of the stairs with her "Why aren't we napping together in bed on this sunny Sunday? I've been waiting for you!" expression.  And yesterday, as I started to unearth my rose bushes and flower beds from the winter shrapnel, Scout was just as insistent on chasing the ball as she has always been.  

This is what it feels like when people ask that stupid question: if you knew you only had one month left to live, what would you do?  Only, my answer is from the perspective of the person left behind.