Someone asked me if I was going to dress the four-footed up for Halloween. The person who asked this question does not know the four-footed one very well. So the answer to the question is no. Because I’d like to keep my body intact, away from teeth and claws. I’d like to keep my hearing intact too.
How do I know what will happen you ask. A reasonable question. You see the four-footed one has a few coats for when it gets colder, or far too wet. And experience has taught me exactly what she will do. Because my four-footed companion likes to be au natural.
If she could get away with no collar, she’d be in her version of seventh heaven. Yes her collar. She doesn’t even want to wear it. When I take it off to give her a brush or a bath, it is a fight to get it back on her. She’d happily go streaking (both in speed and no coverage) all the time if she could.
Alas she is almost always clothed in her collar. The tiny strip of material that it is . Blinged out with her required tags. That’s it. Yet you’d think I was making her wear a thousand layers of clothing or blankets.
So no, no costume for her. No dunking for apples, because it’s not her thing, but begging for treats? Oh yes, she will do that. Just stop by the house and you will see.
Life itself is a bit of a juggling act isn’t it? Or perhaps it’s more of a question of balancing on the high wire for you. And I certainly can feel like a roller coaster ride at the amusement park with its ups and downs.
Life with lupus is exactly like all those things plus a trip in the fun house (without the fun) and a ride on the Drop Of Doom with somewhat less than grippy harnesses.
Land just like a day at the fair, it’s not all bad. I know a lot of times lupus makes things seem bad,but not really. You have your good days which to me are like trying some new food at the fair or going on a nice ride. You have days where you will throw the ball at the target and be successful and other days where you just don’t get the prize.
It’s all okay though, as hard as it seems. As frightening as those rides can be at their scariest, it’s okay. What makes it okay you ask? Having support makes it okay. Having people who know when you need help even if you won’t ask, that makes it okay too. Knowing you aren’t alone? You better believe that makes it okay.
So even though you may be scared or unsure, go out and see what the fair, um, life I mean brings. Even if you have lupus.
Some days you just don’t what you are going to get when you open your door to step in the house after a day out. If you live with a very excitable and loving four-footed companion like I do, you may listen well before you open the door. It’s just a way to get a feel for things before you actual step into it.
Today I stopped and gave a quick listen before entering my own house. The listen told me nothing. Silence greeted me. Now silence could mean the four-footed one is sleeping, preoccupied or out for a walk with Beloved. So naturally I was a bit cautious when I opened the door. Just in case the preoccupation was interrupted.
You see the four-foots one likes to run to the door and launch herself at me. She loves to jump and squirm around my legs. All while wagging her tail a thousand times a minute while trying to lick me. So yes, caution is a good thing.
But she never greeted me. Beloved’s shoes were at the door so I know he wasn’t out for a walk with her. Silence filled the air as I started to go through putting my stuff down and seeing where they were.
It turns out the two of them were napping. On the bed. Sound asleep. They must have had a busy day to not even stir when I came in the room. So I did what they said one should do when one encounters a sleeping dog, I let her, and Beloved, stay sleeping.
Have you ever just gotten into bed and sank deeply into your mattress? So deep that you aren’t sure if you will ever get out again? Now I’m not talking about a mattress that is needing replaced, I’m talking about the perfect sinking after one of those days.
The other day, after a day that never seemed to end, I crawled into my bed and felt the mattress pull me into a deep, warm embrace. I just let myself sink until I could sink no further. And for a brief moment I wondered how I would get back out of the bed. But it was fleeting.
I woke up still feeling as if the mattress was holding me in a loving, warm embrace. And I seriously thought about just staying there, the mattress and I almost melded into one. Except the dog needed to go outside and there is this odd thing called work that insisted I attend to it.
Surprisingly, I had no trouble getting out of the mattress and on into my day. I wouldn’t say the day was better because I sank into bed. It was just different. And of course there was no repeat performance of the gentle sinking into the mattress the following night because that would be too lovely. But if any of you know how to make the mattress do that again, I’m all ears!
There is something to be said about little paw prints neatly marching along a crisp white background. There is something else to be said about those same paw prints when they are found marching across a white shirt. A white shirt laid out to be worn that same day. And when those paw prints have been made in mud? Yeah.
The four-footed one would tell you that what you should say about those paw prints is aww. And if those paw prints, muddy no less, happen to be all over your freshly laundered shirt, laid out on a chair, well you should say thank you for your fashion design.
Except none of that is what I said. What I wanted to say is, umm, profanity laced. And no I did not say that either because swearing in front of the four-footed one will not do. I have no clue why this is the case, but it is. So instead I called her into the room, pointed at the now paw print covered shirt which had moved from the chair onto the floor and asked her if she was responsible.
And yes dear readers, for a small moment I waited. I no clue why. It’s not like she is going to answer me in a way I understand. But I waited and then I simply moved on with my day. Minus my new fashion statement.
How can one small dog, a dog the size of shoebox, manage to find every available muddle puddle and soak herself in from the tip of her nose to the tip of her tail? Not only does the dog manage to find the mud puddles and roll in them for maximum mud soaking, but she brings it in the house. And spreads it generously throughout the house.
Now I know it’s a dog’s nature to find things and roll in them. And I understand that to a degree she is going to bring the outdoors into the house. I expect the odd leaf or two, a blade of grass here and there and yes even an ant or so. But mud more than half way up the walls of the house? Not exactly.
And the amount of mud that comes out of her coat when I give her a bath? Yeah I wasn’t expecting to have the bathtub full of thick muddy water. But for some reason this is what happens during this time of year with a dog the size of a shoebox and a world that seems endlessly filled with mud puddles. Or maybe it just seems that way to me.
The four-footed one has taken to watching the window for long stretches these days. When she is seated in her position, nothing seems to escape her gaze. She announces her new discoveries through a variety of barks and growls. Strangers walking down the road warrant deep throaty growls that seem to start from deep within her and consume her very being. Unfortunately most people will stop their walk to look for the source of the noise, which leads to more growling and occasionally her banging on the window.
If there are birds brave enough to land in the yard, they will get barked at until they fly away. She hasn’t figured out yet that the birds aren’t all that afraid once they realize she can’t get to them from behind the glass. The birds, once they realize the threat is just a bluff, tend to tease her a bit. If they get too close to the window, she will start to jump up against it and then, well then the people in the house tend to get a bit upset. And by the people in the house, I mean my either Beloved or myself.
Now I know she’s being a dog and dogs tend to talk in barks, yips and growls. I get it. And I know that when you look out the window there are some amazing sights and you just have to share them with others. I understand all of this, but at some point surely people walking down the street gets tired, even for her. And yet it would appear not.
I may need to get my hearing checked as today the birds decided the front garden was the perfect place for an all day convention. And of course this I had to be informed about all of this, repeatedly thanks to the four-footed one’s energetic updates.