We survived the week – barely, but I’m calling it a win. Who knew being the sole caregiver to a seven month old puppy, experiencing serious separation anxiety, could drive me to question my sanity.
Mr. Abraham and Lilah relocated with my son last weekend. It hasn’t even been a week since they have been gone and our world has been topsy-turvy ever since. Little Bear is missing his family, taking it out on the only human left in his vicinity, me.
To be honest, maybe I haven’t made it that easy this week. I’m a human in training and learning too. AnyHOO, Memorial Day we headed to Galveston to spend a few days at the bungalow and to pick up his flee medicine from the vet. Who knew he would have a melt down at the change in location. And maybe it was a poor decision on my part too since he was already experiencing missing his doggy crew.
“Hi, do you own a little white dog?” I heard, after switching over the phone call from the vet to an unknown number.
Breaking the speed limit, I raced back to the bungalow, medicine forgotten. Turns out Bear dug his way underneath the gate, moving rocks bigger than his head. I think this little six pound pup turns into the Hulk whenever I leave his sight. Thanking my neighbor profusely for rescuing Bear and sending a silent prayer of gratitude for my son who had engraved my phone number on his dog tag, I decided it was time to go home to a familiar and reinforced fenced backyard. He was wiped out from moving all those rocks, finding his human missing and winding up in stranger’s arms.
Sheesh, this puppy thing is harder than it looks. We had a conversation all the way home about running away but I’m not sure if it took.
Storming and Norming?
We get back home just before a storm shatters the sky above us. Bear searches the house for his lost comrades before settling on the carpet staring at me with big eyes. Scooping him up, letting the bags stay in the car, I cuddled the baby. “We got this, right,” I said reassuring him – or maybe me – as the storm rolled around us. He snuffled, leaning his little head into the crook of my neck as thunder cracked. I hope he was agreeing with me.
But at least we were home.
Thursday arrives and its back to work. I turn my laptop on only to discover the wireless adapter has an error. It’s a new computer. I sit on the phone with IT, Bear in my lap, only to discover my work computer’s dead in the water without an ethernet connection – which I don’t have at home. Putting Little Bear down, I switch to my work phone and let my boss know what’s going on.
Little Bear’s barking drew me outside to the back patio and there we were face to face with an almost dead frog. It wasn’t a little frog. Nope. It was a big, fat frog laying on his back, green legs wobbling in the air. Trying not to freak out or think that my cute, little puppy murdered a frog I just looked at him wondering what the hell. He looked at me and yipped. I swear he was smiling.
After scooping up the frog in a shovel from the garage and taking care of business, I headed inside needing coffee just as the power goes out. Sigh. The electrical box is outside on the side of the house. Bear follows me to the front door already whining. Praying for patience and an easy fix I shut the door only to hear him melting down from the other side. I go back for him, juggling him in my arms, wresting with the sticking electrical box. The main power switch blew and its locked.
I call the electrician, googling separation anxiety for dogs while we waited.
The tips were helpful. But I still needed coffee and grabbed Bear and my purse to find an open Starbucks drive thru. He did pretty good, sitting on my lap in the drive thru, allowing me to pick up my coffee without incident or growling his opinion. “He’s so cute,” the barista cooed, offering a treat. Yep, he’s adorable. I’m reminded of newborn babies and wonder if they are easier to manage then my little puppy.
The Week Continues
The week had a few more surprises for us in store.
This morning, Little Bear back in my lap, I’m on a conference call, petting the baby’s white fur when I notice tiny black spots. I look closer and see flees crawling on his tummy. I stifle a curse, remembering his forgotten flea medicine at the vet earlier in the week. Uggggg. I’m the worse pet parent under the sun, I’m sure of it.
I call my son as soon as I get off the conference call. He gives me my marching orders. Spending a small fortune at the pet store I come home armed with medicine and an arsenal of flee remediation stuff. Stuff for Bear, stuff for the carpet and soft furnishings and stuff for the yard.
I’m exhausted. But the house is sprayed, Bear is washed, his poof of soft white fur with no dark bugs marring his coat. Laundry is still going and will be for awhile. Its now late Friday afternoon and I can officially say we survived the week – barely.
I pour my first glass of wine of the week. A tiny fruit fly lands in the Pino Noir. I close my eyes. Patience, grasshopper, I silently whisper. I pour the wine out, rinse the glass. Bear yips at my feet wanting to go outside. He has a doggy door but wants company. Wine will wait.
Sending you love and happiness.