Outside, Inside

The house is quiet. Cody, my Aussie dog, is still outside, not wanting to come back into the warm house, which is unusual for him, considering how Velcro he is with us.

I'm worried about him. He's thirteen years old and very neurotic...or very demented. We've tried just about everything to calm him, but nothing seems to work. Medications all show signs of side effects with him, making him even more difficult to live with. His hind quarters tremble; he runs off in strange jerking spurts of fearful energy, and then suddenly stops; he stands in one place, staring into the distance, barking in a rhythmic pattern for literally hours at a time; he urinates in these anxious moments, and often even seems fearful of his food at feeding times.

But when we medicate him, the symptoms are exacerbated, so we have been trying to placate him, calm him, soothe him, stroke him. We feed him by slow handfuls, or by forkfuls. We massage him, take him for careful walks to protect his arthritic joints, offer him his toys and treats, and talk to him, though he is almost totally deaf. Nothing seems to relieve his neurosis or dementia.

My dogs have always been a vital part of my life. I've owned them since I was five years old, and have never been without one. I have to admit it, but I prefer them over people. Late in my life I now see people as treacherous, unpredictable and deceitful. I know that my dog loves me unconditionally, eternally, and without qualifications, yet other than my three children and their partners, there are no humans out there in whom I hold much trust or admiration.

My past has of course played a large role in my present cynicism, but that's another story for another day.

Today, I am in a fairly "up" mood, even though my worries about my Cody-dog niggle at me constantly. I spent a great morning yesterday at my daughter's house, having been invited for breakfast and an exchange of home-canned foods: my apple butter for her orange marmalade. My sweet son-in-law cooked me a huge meal of poached eggs, large slabs of ham, English muffins and coffee, while my daughter fixed grits, red-eye gravy and ice-cold freshly squeezed orange juice.

I had driven an hour to their home in my poorly-heated car, my hands and feet fairly frozen off by the time I arrived, even though I was armed with insulated underwear, thick sweat pants, a heavy fisherman's sweater, a warm parka , and fleece-lined leather gloves. There is something wrong with a hose in my car, apparently...according to my son who is my mechanical, technological, plumbing and carpentry repairman.

I'm sick of having a driver's side window and air-conditioning and a heater that haven't worked in a couple of years. There is always something that needs fixing on my car,it seems...which is par for the course, I guess, with a more-than-ten years old car.

Now that I've vented a bit, I hear Cody barking in the distance. I'm off to round him up from wherever he is sounding off.