A Sick Puppy

I won't share the gory details. Suffice it to say, I was up in the night, cleaning up after a sick dog. He's not really a puppy; he's an old dog - deaf, half blind, and somewhat alzheimery. We call him puppy, just because he's still cute, even with the white hairs growing near his pink snout. He's old enough to know better. He should have remembered what happens when he indulges his appetite for dirt. His stomach upset was self inflicted. Bill brought home some soil in June, and Toller took to it right away. There must be something in it that smells and tastes good: recycled cat manure, perhaps? Bill forgot about the dog issues and put some soil down yesterday. This morning, I went out with the dog. Not only does he eat the soil, he also eats the grapes. Soil, temporary stomach upset; grapes, potential renal failure. Bill had placed yellow rope around the newly patched area of grass. Toller walked under them before I could pull him away. But, he managed to take care of business before eating more of what he shouldn't, came in the house, and vomited his breakfast and expensive antibiotic.

This is not really about sick puppies, or self-inflicted stomach upsets. That was just the trigger. This is about being a parent, and that something inside the head that hears things that go bump in the night, even in the middle of delta sleep, when there could be a loud party next door and you hear nothing, but you wake up instantly to the needs of the child in their bedroom. There must be some miraculous built-in amplifier for those little, faraway sounds from child to parent. Sometimes, it is the absense of sound that wakes us up. Are they okay? Are they still breathing? Better get up to check.

I think, maybe, it is the umbilical cord, a phantom connection to what is long gone. That wee gizmo in our brain connects us forever to our child, whether we actually gave birth to him or her, or not. It matters not the distance. We just know something is wrong and we are needed. Or, we feel the strong urge to check, just to be sure. On the other end of the cord, this can be either a comfort or a nuisance. Doesn't she know I'm all grown up? Yes, of course. I have both an incoming cord as well as an outgoing cord. It's there: there is nothing I can do about it and I'm thankful for it. My mother has three of these cords, and I do well to indulge her, because I have two myself and I understand.

I'm not sure where this came from. It was not where I started when I opened Blogger. Freewrites are great tools, and as necessary to the writer as warm-up excerises are to the runner. I can't say I had a pleasant night and morning, but I thank my doggy, who is now sleeping contentedly near my chair, for the source of these thoughts. I could be more specific, but I think all parents and even pet owners know what I am talking about. Long live the umbilical cord, and as far as it must stretch, may it always be valuable and, even if an unwelcome intrusion, appreciated,

Daughter #1 took the photo of Toller last week. I like it because his ears are up - his ears are floppy and he only raises them when he's in fine fettle.