Dog Days

I feel like even though there is so much happening in the world between the pandemic, black lives, police violence, arguments on every side, arguments and arguments, my brain cannot wrap itself around things to have a response.

In fact, I'm in theory not supposed to technically respond publicly. I could lose my job.

And the last time I publicly shared events happening in my life that were Big Things a certain bank used my words against me, told me my narrative was wrong, and I ended up losing just about everything. 12 years plus later, I'm still shaken about that.

So. My Reluctance.

But my inner empath bleeds, and cries, and I just know that the world is broken, and I cannot necessarily do a bloody thing. I've muted so many people who I just can't tolerate hearing hate spewing from their faces. Defriended, disconnected, and these are people I'm pretty sure won't notice I am gone. They're too busy screaming their nastiness into the air, they can't hear anything other than their own echo chambers and those who cheer back.

Suffice to say, if you're suffering, and you are reading this. I see you. We can connect. We can share. I want to hear your stories. I can't fix anything. But I can love you. That's about all.

My focus of attention as of late is, of course, this dog.

Our weekend was spent doing a lot of this. The weather has been amazing - in the 70s, light breeze. So perfect. Doug and I spent the entire day drinking wine on the front porch yesterday, waving to neighbors and strangers out walking. And the dog slept pretty much like this, and was comfortable and happy at our feet.

In the afternoon, I made my weekly call to "Old Folks Land" as Geoff used to call it. He's been posting daily pictures of Brodie on his facebook page, looking miserable, and my mom has been commenting about the patheticness of her doggie face.

She asked me how long we were going to keep her alive. I couldn't believe she'd ask me this. She's pathetic yeah, but still ticking, and still full of love.

Oh, okay. As soon as you are ailing lady, we'll take you in for a shot.

I told her as long as Brodie has an appetite, drinks water, isn't vomiting, shitting everywhere... she's fine. She is just old. It isn't like when she (mom) had a broken hip and could use a walker. I can't get a walker for my dog to help her not fall down when she is in the yard or in the house. So we keep a close eye on her.

Remind me not to put my mom in charge of my end-of-life decisions.

Brodie is such a quiet, sweet thing. Earlier today she fell down in the kitchen, and just stayed there, silently. I went to get a glass of water and found her there. Just looking at the kitchen door waiting for someone to come help.

This is the face.

Her back legs are weak, and then on certain surfaces her front legs just slide out to the side and she plops down.

You poor bean. Here, let me help you. Wash, rinse, repeat.

It's why I wake up and monitor her in the night when she gets her pacing on. I have put towels and blankets down to try and keep her steady, she doesn't fall down on the rug in the living room. It's just the hardwood and the whatever the IKEA flooring stuff is in the kitchen. I can hear her tapping around, and if she stops, I go look.

Sometimes she's successfully standing on the towels under her food dishes, not slipping and getting a good nosh on at 2am. Other times - she's flat.

You poor bean. Here, let me help you.

Today, Doug got out the weed whacker and did the edging on everything in the yard.

Geoff does our mowing but he doesn't have the finishing touches to do the walkways and the garden. Doug had let this go so far this year and finally got to the point where it needed done.

I sat on the porch, kind of watching, not really listening, staring into space. Thinking about the world as it is. Then it crossed my mind that I could go in and vacuum. What perfect timing.

Doug hates the vacuum. He's like an old dog. He hates the noise, he hates how it smells. Bitches incessantly if I vacuum, but then also bitches that the rug needs to be vacuumed.

I used to vacuum every week on my work from home day. Now every day is work from home day, but he's here too, and in my way and in my space, and it prevents me from doing some of the routines that I have gotten used to over the last 5 years.

I came in to do that, knowing that his weed whacking was louder than my Hoovering. And this picture here is what happened.

Brodie just could not be arsed to move out of the way. I went all around her, moved couches and tables, and finally got to where she was.

Nudge.

Nudge, nudge, "Please move," nudge.

Nope. A whole lot of nope.

I came at her from the front and she rolled over on her left side, giving me about a foot extra space to approach the bookshelf. I have to revisit this spot I guess.

Some people have dogs who lose their shit when the vacuum is brought out. Gonzo used to get really upset and run upstairs and hide. This one, little old lady just has zero fucks to give. I posted this picture to facebook and several people replied that their pets would not be having any of this. I should have done video, me bumping her and asking her to move.

Anyway, gonna figure out what is for dinner. There is an ice cream truck in the distance, competing with Red Hot Chili Peppers on our Pandora... and another weed whacker doing its job down the road.