The clocks may have gone back, but nobody reprogrammed my bladder. While I'm downstairs, I give Dusty her first breakfast ball. She barely lifts her head. Her neck and jaw are swollen and heavy with oedema. I am gripped with panic. Dusty was going to stay with Dan while I was in Vietnam, but I think we are near The End. I can't leave her. But I can't have her euthanased or euthanized or whatever it is at my convenience, as some hardened country folk seem to think is reasonable. Equally I can't let Mike and his old ladies down. Waaa!