Saturday, January 16, 2010

JANUARY 16
They're all upstairs and outside the bedroom door. I hear panting and a creaking hinge. Bandit comes in to flop around on the bed, pushing his icy black nose under my arm. We sleep.
Later, Bandit is at the door with his forehead wrinkled, ears up.
Out of bed I let him into the living room and reach down as other snouts and ears and doggy grins flow toward me.
No growling or snapping or fights. Holding my breath and watching the four dogs swirl around the coffee table, over the rug, bump the rocking chair, shove past Jerry on the couch and move around and around, they all eventually look at me.
Let us out! I know they are thinking of chewing sticks and sniffing the snow. They want to fly over rocks and squeeze beneath fallen trees in the woods -- me scrambling behind. My hiking boots against the hillside will never be as nimble as four legs, claws, and a lightness that accompanies the simplicity of endless happiness at the sight of a stick spinning across the sky, stabbing into the snow where it waits for teeth.
The minute I look at Jerry my mood crashes. He has been alone with the four dogs every night since Tuesday when I went to a meeting and another meeting Wednesday night and the bar Thursday and Friday nights. By Saturday morning I am tired and crabby and he has used up all his reserves of patience.
I take her out every twenty minutes and it's annoying, he tells me.
She's been cooped up.
It's annoying! Why do you stick up for the dogs before me?
Sadly, I stick up for the dog: I am just saying that she probably has cabin fever...
Why can't you just agree with me and say Ok for once?
I am not sticking up for the dogs before you, I just think she is a poor dog and doesn't have a choice.
What about my choice? Jerry asks. You care about that dog more than the other dogs or me. She has taken over your life, that's all you think about right now.
Yes, it is, I tell him. That does NOT mean I don't care about you or put everybody else second. (Even though that's what is happening) I have displaced everything to squeeze in Lily.
I am going to take Lily out and run some energy off, I say.
So now your dogs are stuck in the basement while you go with her? Jerry tells me it's not fair and only causes jealously and problems when I separate them.
Well, I say, I can't take all of them for a jog unless I go in the woods.
You said you could do all of them.
Did I say that before Bandit and Lily were fighting? I didn't know there would be problems.
I tell Jerry I don't know what to do here. I am afraid. I am worried they'll fight.
Take them all in the woods then, he tells me.
That's what I eventually do.
I tell Jerry, you are SO aggravated today. At me. (As if he shouldn't be).
Well, I feel like you're mad at me. You're tense and aggravated and sound like it's my FAULT.
I walk to where Lily sits quietly, immobile, curled up, watching the two of us argue, wondering if those angry voices are for her.
She needs help, Jerry.
Yeah?

This invasive thick blackness sits at my peripheral vision and I feel pangs of anxiety in my ribs and bones and body and the clenched feeling returns to my neck.

I won't leave with the dogs until Jerry and I are settled. I know I ruined his mood for the day.
Patience? Maybe tomorrow.
Jerry asks, do we really have to tell the whole world our business?
I keep quiet and look over at him.

Back from the woods I leave Bandit on the run outside. He loves to just sit and look at the street, trees, house, passing cars. Lily, Hershey and Ozzy the pug are inside and they do just fine around one another. reading through my notes from a feed store owner I see the initials EPI -- endocrine pancreatic insufficiency. He has spoken with three shepherd owners who described nearly the same problem that Lily is having. The diarrhea is abundant, dense, and frequent. I no longer leave the lights off downstairs in the morning as the soft light creeps in through the windows. I need to see the floor, the dirty, spotted, pee stained floor.
Maybe she is not breaking down her food properly, he tells me.
We'll see. I ordered food and supplies that he recommends. He sounds confident and knowledgeable and I need to trust him. I need something to trust.
All of us are in the house now. Every dog has a cushion, corner of the couch, or place on a rug. No one is upset with anyone else. Bandit and Lily sniff and act normally. I see it for the false hope that it is and know that whatever triggers his impulse to guard his possession will prevail if I don't begin to understand my dogs.

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