JANUARY 4
Nothing she eats stays in. Poor Lily. It’s as though her intestines are only a few feet long. Up this morning before sunrise and outside with her, crashing around on clumsy paws and glancing toward the horizon. Shadowed hills holding up a pink dawn. She sniffs and finds a place she likes then mark the snow. Good girl Lily. She wants to play but I am afraid to let her off the leash.
Would she catch a scent and run? We should have gone out in the dog pen, but up here above the woodpile is easier. Yesterday I tossed a toy for her in the pen back and forth and over and over she returned it to me. Snow on her black nose.
I thought the pills had been helping bind her stomach, but I had so much to clean up today. Did any of her food soak in? No parasites and no worms, says her vet. More color creeps into the sky and we hop inside. Time for work soon where I glance through a dog trainer’s handbook. Patience. I just have to make it through today with Lily thinking she is a good girl.
I call Jerry at least 5 times during the day. Do you think the dogs are OK? Do you think Bandit and Hershey are ganging up on her? What if the house catches fire?
I ask and ask. No, he said, the house hasn’t burned down yet, has it? They’re fine, he tells me. Would I pick something up for dinner? It’s only 3:30 pm Monday.
I'll be home in two hours. I call Jerry one more time. Call me as soon as you get home, I ask. Then I waited while time sat down in a recliner, lowered its hat over its eyes and took a nap, stretching every heart wrenching second like chewing gum.
Home. Four happy faces look at me through the front door windows. Jerry is smiling on the couch. Thank God. We discovered only yesterday that when Lily stands next to the front door, looks at us, looks outside, looks at us, she want to go out. She needs to go out. Now.
Lily needs to go out into the cold and dark, or the too early morning about four times as much as anyone else in the house. Tonight I return home with a plan. Since Lily hesitates to step through the swinging doggy door, I open a sliding window to the pen, step outside, and coax her through. We’ll just be outside every half hour tonight and maybe we’ll get used to going to the bathroom out here. That was my plan. Is that house training? Hardly.Midnight: Lily’s stomach is loud. I scoop some dry dog food into a cup and as I reach down toward her bowl she swings her head up sniffing. The little round “fortified chicken flavor” bits crash all over the kitchen. I go to bed.