| I spoke with my mother by telephone at around noon, and she told me the bad news: little Calvus is dying. Calvus is a chihuahua who found his way to my mother’s house via the usual channels -- friends or coworkers who haven’t got enough space in their homes to take care of some animal who just showed up on their doorsteps one morning, and who know that my mother can probably make room for one more friendly face around the food dish. The special thing about Calvus is that he’s only got three good legs: one of his rear legs must have been damaged when he was young, and it’s kind of withered; it hangs limply at his side, swinging slightly forwards and backwards as he walks. His front legs have to work harder to pick up the slack, so he has a slight barrel-chest, and his hind end doesn’t get as much exercise as it would if he had four good legs, so his body tapers as it approaches his tail. He is sort of bullet-shaped, with his head serving as the area nearest to the hammer in the chamber. |