Whether it’s because of the economy, reaching a certain age, or other even-less-pleasant circumstances, many people now seek some sort of reinvention in their lives. Yes, I’m talking to, you, (insert your name here).
You know how I so often say I’m grateful that Lilly doesn’t have separation anxiety (among all her other fears)? (I’d like to keep it that way.) Well, we learned last Friday that there is one instance when she VERY much minds being alone. The little stinker barked and howled for one hour, 10 minutes, when I put her on our (fenced) property after our walk … while I enjoyed lunch next door with a neighbor and friend who offered to give me a break from all the stress. Lilly didn’t like it one @#$#@ bit. Lesson learned.
Ginko is still having pretty consistent trouble with his right knee (we assume). Right leg, at the very least. We keep swearing that we’ll keep him quiet, that we won’t let him run, and so on, but it is very hard with so much else going on. Since Feb 1 was conveniently on a Monday and since Feb 14 is such a BIG day (for so many … not so much for me), I hereby declare a renewed commitment to Ginko’s rest.
So, one of the weird parts of being on Facebook is “friending” family members. (Yes, I was about the last person on the planet to join.) BUT, it kind of amuses me to be connected online with a couple of my cousin contemporaries. You see, there are four of us in my large Italian family that are essentially the same age. It’s kind of cool, I think. Anyway, I’m now connected with a cousin who moved from Colorado to Florida. I just laughed and laughed when I saw profile pictures of his dogs. Talk about extremes.
In an attempt to make the pre-holiday cleaning bonanza last as long as possible, I began using a squeegee on our glass doors after each shower. To me, that daily minute trumps the eons it takes to battle well-water residue later. While I try really hard not to squeak the darn thing, Lilly hates the sliding noise just as much. She barks. Ginko barks, and suddenly everyone in the house knows Mommy is out of the shower.
I cannot imagine what that sliding noise sounds like to Lilly. Is it like a whisper that freaks her out? Maybe it’s a pitch that just unsettles her, like fingernails on a chalkboard?
I suppose I could counter-condition the sound in a non-shower scenario … since it’s way too cold to dilly-dally in a real situation, but I’m not sure it’s an actual fear as much as it is just Lilly’s way of acknowledging the sound.
A revelation sprouted from the non-stop stress here at Chez Champion of My Heart. An insight into panic and frustration and fearful dogs poked me square in the noggin when I unexpectedly flipped out recently and saw the parallels to what life is often like for dear, sensitive Lilly. You know how I sometimes gripe about how Lilly’s behavior flashes and catches me off guard? Well, these days, I feel something similar come over me, and I never see it coming. Maybe that’s how it is for Lilly, too.
My generous, sympathetic friends keep asking me what they can do to help as I navigate some crazy-crazy stress. Since A) I’m not good at asking for help, and B ) I can never think of anything in the moment, I have taken up very few offers (so far).
Because here is the thing: I often don’t know what I need until the very moment I flip out and need it. And, since every single person in my life who typically fills any void on a moment’s notice is in crisis themselves (hence my own tangential crises), it leaves a girl feeling really quite alone.
Granted, I don’t fling myself to the ground and refuse to move, as Lilly is known to do. But, I do find myself being a bit short tempered, a bit impatient, and a tad moody. Perhaps our darling black-and-white girl comes to her snarkiness naturally.
And, perhaps, the same basic methods I use to keep Lilly calm and happy and functioning will work for me as well. That includes:
Since I don’t suppose anyone wants to follow me around and feed me chocolate as a reward, I’ll have to plan some breaks in advance so that I can avoid (we hope) a full-on shutdown.
This week such strategies include absolutely making time for long walks with Lilly no matter the weather or my looming work deadlines, doing some restorative yoga first thing in the morning or before dinner to realign ye old bod and sagging spirit, and scheduling little events with friends to combat this lonely girl thing I’ve got going.
I figure those things are a bit more constructive the my new urge to shop (a lot) and my usual vice … to eat (more than I should).
Friday, Lilly and I have a date with a neighbor to walk around lunchtime. We may even see if we can take Toby (the new doodle puppy in the valley) with us. I called over the other day to see if he could come along, but his family was headed out.
There is also a new spa at one of the mountain town casinos over the hill. The prices are a bit silly, but the hotel has a really good buffet, so I’m hoping to schedule massages and maybe a lunch out since both of the two-legged peeps here could use a friggin break.
When faced with prolonged and numerous caretaking responsibilities, what have you done to cope? Do tell.
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Sincere thanks to loyal readers, online friends, and face-to-face pals alike for your concern over my absence in recent weeks after so many years of such regular blogging. Indeed, you can assume that gaps in my usual posting schedule mean any number of things: too busy, too stressed, too tired, etc. Each day, I think I’ll catch up. Many days, I’m just so fried that I call it quits before I manage to bleat out a post.
BUT, today is a better day, after two somewhat “normal” workdays. I have indeed made both my magazine deadlines for the month. I’ve drafted the first two posts of a new (paid) blog that’s set to launch soon, and I’ve sent a new article idea over to my editor at Bankrate.com.
So, I’m going to rough out some posts for the rest of the week, while I have time and energy. Stay tuned.
Since we have virtually no time for “real” dog training these days, I’ve taken to making even everyday things … like Lilly following me around as I attempt to keep the house somewhat in order … into a working thing. OK, maybe I’m just trying to make myself feel better, but Lilly seems to enjoy doing what I ask, even if she would do those things anyway.
For example, rather than just letting her follow me up and down the stairs as I do laundry. I ask her to SIT-STAY while I load the washer. I release her when it’s time to move. I ask her to SLOW when we go up the stairs together. I ask her to DOWN-STAY off the bed while I put on fresh sheets.
I reward these daily activities, just as if we were doing new training tasks, and I have to say that Lilly honestly responds like it is real work. And, we all know how much she loves to work.
So, even if it’s a simple HOP UP (where she settles on the bed), I ask her to do something as much as I can so that we can engage in a deeper human-canine communication than when she just follows me around hoping for a little interaction.
Her latest thing is bringing me sticks while I soak outside in the hot tub. She gets to play fetch. I get to relax … at the same time.
I really am trying to make more time to play and walk and work with her the few hours I have to myself each day. And, as I mentioned earlier, if a nap is what I need, then Lilly is absolutely invited.
I still feel like we’re in a deep hole, but we’re making the best of it.
On one of many nights I attempted to sleep somewhere other than where Tom was, I had the luxury of Lilly joining me. When either of us is sick, we use various bedrooms to avoid as much as possible passing the germs along. I had a doozy of a cold last week (clearly the stress wore me down), so I coughed, sneezed, and snorted my way through several nights. So, we let our poor neglected pups sleep loose (rather than in their crates), and Lilly picked me as her cuddling companion.
At first, I thought it was because Tom put up the baby gate we use to keep the pups on the main level, but I learned in the morning she had started the night with him, but she picked me on her own.
I guess she knew I needed a little caretaking that night.
I wish I could say I slept, but I did enjoy hours and hours of just hanging out with my girl as she snoozed. I tried matching my breathing to hers, but even when asleep Lilly takes two breaths for each of mine … at least when I purposefully slow my pace to force my body to relax.
I composed something pretty neat in my head that night, but alas whatever prose I managed didn’t stick in my memory.
I wanted to tell you what I thought about, how we melded our hearts, what my sweet black-and-white girl meant to me in those dark moments, but I lost that narrative to fatigue and stress. Maybe some day it’ll come back to me.
Until then, just know that my sweet girl likely knows more than I do in these times of strife. She somehow knew her “place” was as close to me as PJs, covers and fur allow.
Lilly has figured out that certain getting-dressed routines mean various things that may or may not involve her having any fun. The other day in my mad dash to get out of the house and deal with eldercare issues, I found her glued to one spot, just looking out the window. At first, I couldn’t figure out what she saw. When I realized a bunny had caught her attention, I figured a little border collie obsession wasn’t a bad thing for her with me being so busy.
I put a circle around the bunny, who seemed to be enjoying dropped bird seed from the feeder above.
Lilly didn’t bark. She didn’t squeal. She simply sat and watched … the entire time it took me to get ready to leave.
Back in the mid-1990s, when I was on staff at the American Animal Hospital Association, I helped with logistics for the big annual veterinary conference. Think of it like throwing some 50 special events every day for thousands of your closest colleagues in a strange city for four straight days. It is exhausting. The exhibit hall was always one of big draws, with oodles of free schwag and other tantalizing things to get people into the various booths, where the oh-so-charming sales folks could work their magic. One year, I don’t remember which, and I’m too tired to look it up, one of the exhibit hall stars was Moose, the dog who played Eddie in the TV show Frasier.
For free, you could have a Polaroid taken with him. Sometimes he kissed people. Sometimes (like below) he held your hand.
(I’m pretty sure part of that is shadow. Even then, I didn’t have *that* big of hair.)
I plopped down in a rare, spare moment. His handler cued him. Someone snapped the image. Done. On to the next thing, for both of us.
At the time, I remember feeling VERY sad for Moose. He seemed detached, unemotional and like he wasn’t having any fun. I suppose it isn’t any different than meeting a famous human actor. I guess I shouldn’t have expected him to “like” me or anything, but he seemed like a little robot.
Moose is gone now. His son, Enzo, took over the role eventually.
I wish I could have met him when I knew more about dog training. I suspect I would see the whole thing differently. What seemed like detachment was perhaps extreme handler focus and an incredible work ethic. What seemed like a lack of emotion was probably turbo socialization where a sudden environmental change (like a new person sitting next to you every 15 seconds) wasn’t anything that required a response.
I still feel a little sad because I now understand how much work it was for him to be in that environment and to do all those things, BUT, I hope, he indeed was having fun, and that the tongue out thing wasn’t just something they taught him so that he looked happy.
