The Sleepover

 This is the sequel to “Therapy Dog” as written in 2009.

On a typical spring weather weekend, I had the occasion to care for Toffee and his brother Chase.  Their sister, Butter, traveled with Mom and Dad to visit family over the Memorial Day holiday. She has more privileges because she has reached golden years, but I think she will live many years longer than any of us expect.  She’s a Labrador and larger dogs usually have shorter lives, but as I’m writing this, she has already celebrated her 12^th birthday!

This story is about her youngest housemate – Toffee. You remember, Toffee, my therapy dog from the previous chapter. He’s continuing to recover and has completed may stages of his rehab and relearning.  He’s had recent surgery where a surgical “plate’ was fused in his foot.  I’m not sure what the procedure was and have not asked for details.  All I know is that his leg has been in a full cast and no amputation was necessary, which was what I had prayed for all along.  His surgeon is quite hopeful that he will regain the use of his foot and I’m ecstatic!

I’m constantly amazed at his patience and easy going manner.  He just does what a dog does; doesn’t matter to him if he’s burdened with a boot, cast, baby sock, tape, gauze, etc.  He’s just living life and loving life and happy and carefree.

This particular weekend, our weather forecaster promised a few thunderstorms during the DAYLIGHT hours.  No problem for us. Chase and Toffee will (on voice command) do what they need to do in any weather; especially if I accompany them.  It’s just part of the job to always be prepared with a suitcase of essential wardrobe changes, flashlight (and batteries), overnight bag, treats for dogs and cats, extra fish food, individual client files (with recent shot records) and packaged snack foods for me. I’m always ready to couch it and obtain my client’s permission to do so.

Guess what?  It rained that weekend NON STOP.  We got soaked after breakfast and again mid-day, just after dinner and that final before bed get the wiggles out run around the perimeter of the back yard. It thundered all day.  The sky brightened with lightning flashes all day. The boys were my only full-time charges and as I was driving with my emergency flashers on at a safe speed, headed out for my last visit, I said to myself: “Self, I’m couching it at Toffee’s”.  It didn’t make sense to me to come home and start this nonsense all over again at 5:30 the following morning.

I pulled into the driveway around 10:15 p.m. that Friday night and grabbed my overnight bag and ran inside.  I was dripping all over the doormat and realized the alarm had been set and hurried to disarm it.  My two dry companions looked at me in my rain gear and knew it was time to go out.  No resistance, we all went out and came right back in.  No desire for a final sniff around the yard.

It didn’t take me too much time to get ready for “couch”. I knew where the linens were and I borrowed a pillow from the guest suite and headed to dreamland about 11:00 or so.  Toffee and Chase had beds, which I had brought in from the screened sun porch, and everyone settled in for the night.  I was somewhat bothered by a blue light which indicated that the automated coffee brewer was on standby.  I almost unplugged the thing, but thought better of my decision, because some people can not function without their morning coffee.

So, I had the glow of the blue light coming in from the kitchen, and the rattling of the rain on the tiled roof and the occasional boom of the thunder and the lightning all going on as I drifted off.

Sometime after hearing the unison of snoring going on in the living room, I felt a “clunk” on my head.  I opened up one eye and saw the cast on Toffee’s leg somewhere near my left ear and shoulder.  The rest of him had snuggled in between me and the back of the couch  He was asleep, having just shifted to a more comfortable position. What to do? My maternal instinct kicked in (although I had not needed to rely on it for over a decade), and I did nothing.  I just laid there on my side facing the blue light and considered my options.

I could completely awaken and MOVE Toffee to the floor and into his bed or… completely awaken and CALL Toffee to move the floor and into his bed or…close my eyes and forget it.

I chose the last option.  How in the world did I not feel him jump up on the couch and move along me in the first place? A plaster cast dragging behind a fifty-pound dog should have jostled me from sleep.  Nope, their three cushion couch was comfy and I was used to sleeping partners of various breeds in my own home.  I learned quite some time ago that sleep will come eventually!

I didn’t really rest well that night and I learned something.  That love can be defined in being unselfish.  That sleep can be postponed into several cat naps throughout the following day and memories are made in the stillness of the night in the middle of a thunderstorm.

Therapy Dog

The sweet voice on the other end of the telephone said: “Hello, I got your name from LCOL D**** and I need your help.  My dog (I have three) was hit by a car during Christmas break and he has lost bladder control and I can’t say goodbye.  He needs someone to squeeze his bladder for him and put his mangled foot into a boot to outdoor exercise.  Will you come?”

I made time immediately for a visit the next day.  She greeted me and sat with me to explain my job.  “Toffee” is the youngest family member and is joined by “Butter” and “Chase”.  His left back foot was scabbed and the toes had been separated from his paw but were still attached. The boot was needed for balance.  She put it on over his bandages and baby sock and we went outside.  He struggled to the lawn and stood still while she bent over him and squeezed his bladder from both sides until he was empty. She praised him and let him stay with the other two for a few minutes.  Once in, Toffee found his bed and collapsed in its softness.

Toffee had also lost control of his bowels, so I would find his bedding soiled most of the days. She would clean up after him when she got home.  I told her “Not on my watch!”

His mistress, a Captain in the U S Air Force, (and employed at the base clinic), taking classes herself, and married (her husband also active duty), had very long days.  Could I come Monday, Wednesday and Friday?  Could I start tomorrow?

Of course.

Butter, the senior lady of the house is a lab and a couch potato.  Chase is a mixed short hair bundle of love with excess energy. Toffee is a mixed short hair rescue with the sweetest personality and his hair is absolutely the color of freshly pulled toffee (like honey in the sunlight). His eyes were bright and trusting.

I do not have a degree in anything remotely medical.  I have never taken a Red Cross training course or CPR.  All I have is an abundance of empathy and the willingness to help someone every day.  I call it “positive stress”. My life energy is about serving and I think God allows for my service to include his animal kingdom.

And so we began: Butter, Chase, Toffee and I met three times a week for his “therapy”. Most days, the pups would be lounging in the screened porch. Dog beds, automated water dispensers and food bowls, toys, extra towels and blankets were scattered about in their side of the outdoor living room.  A basket of gauze, ointment, tape, scissors, baby socks, disinfectant spray and Toffee’s boot was kept on the coffee table.

They knew it was treat time when I walked through the front door.  That pleasant duty was always followed by a search for accidents.  The cleaning supplies and fresh doggie bedding were kept in her laundry room and I had been given permission to use them, which I did.  Occasionally, I’d start a load of wash to ease her burden.  No problem.  It’s what I do.

 Some days were better than others for him.  I was drawn into his sweetness and soon began to look forward to our therapy sessions.  When I awakened on a Tuesday or Thursday I would find myself disappointed that I couldn’t go to spend the lunch hour with them.

Weeks passed into months and I had the pleasure of staying with them for a long weekend and while out one day, I witnessed his trying to relieve himself.  He was successful and the “turd” was marked by a hastily made placard (stick with a paper plate). I called his owner (on vacation with relatives), interrupted her lunch and said “Toffee turded” on his own, absolutely on his own. Cheers erupted from the whole gang on her end of the line.  I cried.  He just looked at me, but he was smiling.

It was still a few weeks until he tried to pee on his own.  He felt the urge.  I waited, he waited…and he peed.  We celebrated the moment.  I did a happy dance. Butter knew something wonderful had happened and wanted a treat.  I called the owner again and left a voice mail.  I drew smiley faces all over the journal page. His nerve systems were healing.  His brain and his nervous system were reconnecting.  He was going to be okay.

I think he knew he was going to be okay way before any human had an inkling.  Certainly, the vet did not know, the surgeon did not know.  I think his mistress had faith and prayed for is recovery but she did not know. All she had was unconditional love for her companion. All she knew to do was ask for my help. And I did not know anything when I arrived but Toffee has taught me things I could not learn elsewhere.  Those intangible things that fill my soul that I could not find in books or lecture halls, NPR radio stations, documentaries on the television or long lunches with the girls.

He has regained control of his bodily functions.  He will live with his physical limitations; only he doesn’t know he has any.  We recently celebrated our 1^st year anniversary together-just the four of us. It was nothing formal, but a kind of sitting on the lawn with three dogs in your lap celebration.; petting everyone at once and receiving their kisses on every exposed inch of my legs, arms, neck and face. It strikes me funny how therapeutic our days together have become.  I know in my heart that healing has taken place.  I know in my heart that I am renewed.  I feel happier, I live happier.  I AM HAPPIER.

Now I ask you:  ”Who received therapy?”

Let the Games Begin

Not all dogs are pets.  Let’s be very clear on this subject.  There are companion dogs, show dogs, working dogs, and sporting dogs.  “Sport, “Buck” and “Fred” are fine examples of the last category.  They are Pointers, bred for hunting and they are owned by a gentle man, retired from his first and second careers, with ample time to hunt. George and I met last year; an interview quite unlike any

other I have ever had.

He has one companion dog, “Boomer”, and a resident cat, “Sylvester”, in addition to his outdoor gang.  I had never met a sporting dog, let alone three.  His property looks pretty much like the neighbors from the front.  His back yard, however, is occupied by kennels and runs for his sporting trio.

I had just settled down at his kitchen counter, ready for the question and answers to begin and he said, “Let me introduce you to THEM”. He brought me through an enclosed porch, down the hill, to the kennels.  I’m sure that the whole introduction was less than 5 minutes total. Individual meet and greets as each was ordered from the kennel, allowed to run the perimeter of the yard and ordered back to the enclosure.  I made quick mental notes on the size, color, and markings of each dog and hoped that I would remember the details to write them  down.

“Just let them out for a few minutes to run, give them a treat and put them back in, please.  Can you come 3 times each day? Boomer travels with me and the cat is not much trouble” George rattled off at me.

“Yes”, I replied and wondered what I had gotten myself into…”Oh, there is an alarm that I want you to activate except for the days my maid comes in” he continued.  More note taking.  He handed me his door key, shook my hand and gave me dates and times.  That was pretty much the whole scenario.

Once I got home, I relaxed with his notes in hand and re-read my do’s and don’ts.  Okay.  Seems easy enough.  No meal preparation for the dogs (kibble in self-feeding stations in each pen).  Sylvester is pretty self- sufficient and the maid is coming. Got it.

First time through the door and deactivated the alarm with no problem (not always the case).  I had remembered to ask him for the “password” just in case I tripped it.

Cat okay, raised his head and went back to sleep on the top of the very high custom cabinetry in the kitchen. Out to the kennels, muttering my instructions in a low voice “Out to exercise, treat, back in, lock kennel, repeat”.

They were all out and having a ball, running amuck and peeing on everything that stood still.  Yep, I have 3 unneutered healthy sporting dogs.  Thankfully, they came when called and were gentle in my hand when feeding them their biscuits.  We were all enjoying the whole experience when I noticed that my pants leg was soaking wet.  Huh?  No sprinklers and I did not remember leaning against anything.

I had been so busy spinning around to keep them all in my line of sight that I neglected to look behind me.  Apparently, while two were busy in front of me or along a side fence, one remained and marked my pants.  I call the game “Hydrant in the Middle”.  The game lasted until I got all three returned to their individual spaces; two together, one by himself. Buck and Sport are incompatible as roommates.

I laughed as I returned inside to his laundry room, where I stripped the offended garment off and washed and dried it.  I am always prepared and had a change of scrubs with me.  My stay was longer than usual due to unplanned laundry detail.

I left George a note explaining their “game” and that I did not understand the rules.  My payment was in the mailbox the following day and included in the envelope with my check was a hand written note:  “Dear Laura, perhaps it’s part of the initiation ceremony”.  Now THAT I understood.

Hunting seasons change, something I was not aware of (until I eavesdropped on a conversation while standing in line at IHOP). Deer season leads into hog season which leads into pheasant season, etc. or something like that. But whenever the three are not on the road with George, I care for them.  Once or twice Boomer has been home, too.  He’s not much of a game player, Thank God.

Florida's First Iditarod Team

On the other end of the phone was a caller who had been referred by a client. This welcomed call inquired about my availability for a week in November.  She, her husband and son were booked on a cruise and their 5 animal companions needed care; four little dogs and their cat. “Glad to come” I said.

Yes they were little…two Silky Terriers (siblings), one Shih Tzu and a wider than usual terrier mix (similar to the double wide mobile homes I passed en route to their home). Their house however, was in a gated community and I’m guessing that they had two more than the HOA allowed, but again, they were little.  Belle, the cat, a grey Tabby, was ornamental in that she didn’t relate to people very well and stayed in their son’s room or on the covered hot tub if the weather permitting.

Our first meeting wasn’t. We were acquainted in that parent of middle schooler on the other side of the counter from the secretary of that middle school kind of way. I was the secretary.  So we weren’t strangers, exactly.  But being in the home environment of a casual acquaintance is completely different.  Personalities change when I am the visitor in the situation. 

I encourage misbehavior.  Clients don’t always consider it a good indication that I am a true professional.  Let me explain.  The animals have selective hearing when a new person enters the home.  The usual silent conversations owners have with their pets and the hand signals reserved for obedience are replaced by excited getting to know you sniffs and jumping on furniture and running to get their toys.

Funny thing, I think, how inviting a new person into a home with family pets causes disruption and embarrassment to the pet owner.  It seems perfectly logical to me that the dogs and cats, birds, etc. would want to get to know who I am.  On those occasions where the pets outnumber the people, the investigative process becomes comical.  Just for your benefit, I’ll give you a visual.

Three people, two very comfortable leather couches, assorted coffee tables and four curious dogs together enjoying conversation. “Get off the couch”…”now what were you saying”…”Honey, can you hold Louie”…”their food is located”…”Gizmo, come here boy”…”bedtime is”…”Where is Lilly?”…”No, Casey is the fat one”…”their leashes will be on the dryer”…”Louie, get off the couch”…”Lilly, where is that dog?”…”No, Lilly is the larger terrier”…”Gizmo, get down”…Well, you get the picture.

About an hour later, with notes in hand, I left smiling.  This would be a fun job.  Everyone was so energetic, a happy family.  I would be back within a week’s time and get re-acquainted with my charges.  And Belle?  She was the odd one, pretty much lived outside except for bad weather, when I could let her in at sunset.

First time through the garage door, I was greeted enthusiastically by all four pups.  Treats and additional notes were scattered about the top of the kitchen island and I paused just long enough to drop off the door opener, notes and my car keys and let them all outside.  The yard was interrupted by an in ground pool with separate deck. Each dog had made a path around the pool to a favorite spot along the fence. Two went left; one right and the fourth shadowed my every move.  Their routine lasted about 5 minutes and they were all back, underfoot and waiting for the next adventure.

We returned to the family room and couched it long enough to calm down and let me watch a little television.  Feeling confident, I said good bye, gave each a treat, read the last of the instructions and headed home.  “Easy enough,” I mused behind the steering wheel.  “No problem,” I told myself.

And it wasn’t (a problem) until…

I decided to take them walking.  Two retractable leashes and two old fashioned cloth leashes lined up in increasing size order on top of the dryer. Okay. Soon Louie, Lilly, Gizmo and Casey, from little to big all leashed together and eager to go.  I was tethered between the two pair, totally in control.  The garage door went up and we maneuvered between the cars on the driveway and into the street.  Thankfully mid -afternoon was a good time to go.  Kids and school busses were nowhere in sight. Business people had not come home from work yet and no other dog walkers on the horizon.

We headed up the street, trying to stay to the middle of the road so as not to alarm those who watch the world from the front windows.  We were at a comfortable pace and got two houses down when the leashes began to entwine.  Not the two cloth, short leashes (attached to Casey and Gizmo), the retractable ones (attached to the brother and sister pairing). I stopped, they stopped, I detangled two only to entangle two and so it went as we paraded down the street.  My left foot was the brake and my right the accelerator. The dogs continued on their walk until my demeanor changed from slightly amused to aggravated to hysterical laughter which prompted a halt to this absurd adventure.

And at that moment of clarity, I noticed a neighbor, who had come from his gated back yard, standing between his home and the next watching us.  His silence gave way to a hearty cackle, which gave into a belly laugh making him double over to slap his knees.

I smiled and continued to free myself from my temporary predicament.  He recovered long enough to ask me if my team and I were practicing to enter the Florida Iditarod.  I don’t remember my reply, doesn’t matter.  That neighbor was right on with his observation.  Why didn’t I think of attaching them to a skateboard or something?

Well we continued the walk in our stop and go fashion and once home and dogs safely inside, I gathered the ball of leashes and sat breathless pulling one from the other for the remainder of the afternoon’s visit. 

The next time we went in shifts and the neighbors did not come out to watch the parade, but I’m sure they talked about it for quite a while…

Big Enough Couch

I try not to be judgmental.  But I am flawed and always leave a new client’s home with inklings of what really goes on behind that front door.  Sometimes it’s the nervousness of the interview, sometimes, more is revealed by the fact that all the interior doors are closed and the pets have been sequestered in the main room for my benefit. My “gut feelings” are played out over the course of my employment.  Once, and only once, did I resolve that I knew everything about my client by her choice of furniture; in particular, a lovely teal leather couch.

The missus and I were well acquainted as she was my daughter’s second grade teacher.  I had been a substitute teacher in her classroom and knew her to be easy going and one who frequently gave in to non- traditional and creative methodology.  Life was fun and learning about it left her students not wanting the weekend to interrupt class.

So now, I had the privilege to meet (in no particular order) Roxie, Zach, Heidi and Willow:  Dachshund, Dachshund, Dachshund and long hair Chihuahua. Willow, the Chihuahua,  was the "grand" dog as their daughter (away at college), left her in the care of Mom and Dad. The "plus" one didn't seem to know she wasn't a Doxie...they were equal in the eyes of their people. Four doggies were all vying for attention.  Interview went exceedingly well and I knew I had passed inspection. They had the run of the entire house,. Two of the bedrooms had been converted into work/hobby areas. Repairing clocks was his hobby-the collection of working and non working included grandfather clocks, Big Ben chimers, Cuckoo variety and ones which also indicated the barometric pressure. Hers was computers-she loved the challenge of dis assembly!   The hobbies spilled out into the back yard, where she honed her skills as a master gardener and the garden gnomes, who resided there, never wanted to leave home.

Upon arrival, they were all behind a baby gated kitchen entryway.  Oh, the commotion! They couldn’t get to me and they WANTED to get to me.  I was cleaning up kibble which had been scattered in the excitement for several minutes after I had let them outside.  I joined them and we played follow the leader all around the flowers.  Their grassy area was limited and each took their turn as duty called. Except Zack, being the only male, he was allowed to sprinkle as he walked along.  Neighbor’s dog was out and wanted in on the fun, but I clapped my hands and announced that we’re heading in.

First visits are longer than usual, because my purpose is to get acquainted; on their terms without supervision from the client. It doesn’t take long to understand the hierarchy and if the companion is just one, I allow for extra getting to know me time. While I was being investigated, I took the time to familiarize myself with fuse box, lights on timers,  locating the fire extinguisher, Parmesan cheese (for fussy eaters), laundry detergent (just in case) and toilet plunger.  An odd list to be sure, but as you will see, the whereabouts of these essentials play out in future stories.

Scavenger hunt completed, it was time to tackle the television remotes. I find it simply unnerving that the  getting up from a chair to turn the channel has been replaced by gadgetry and manuals to understand the gadgetry and toll free numbers to speak with those who understand the language of the manuals. Sometimes, as in this case, simple 3 step how to instructions had been left on sticky notes on the television screen.  Great!  Let’s get comfortable for a while and just let it be.

Well, the getting comfortable was problematic because I was sitting on the couch.  No one had told me NOT to sit there.  So I moved to the Barcalounger, raised the foot rest and noticed four pairs of eyes lined up in total disbelief. Okay, I moved once more to a stiff rocking chair, re-positioned it first, sat back and contemplated. Something was not quite right. I had offended the dogs.

No worries, I’d try again.  So I sat on the couch, at the end, nearest the coffee table.  Interest piqued from Willow and she joined me. Three remained on the floor in protest.  I slid down to the middle cushion.  Heidi went straight to the lounger and after plumping the afghan throw to suit her, burrowed in and went to sleep.  Zach and Roxy moved closer but were still not satisfied with the arrangement.

Maybe it was the television.  Maybe this should be quiet time without competition from the electronic babysitter.  So I reached for a quilt and pillow and stretched out to my full 5 foot 4 inch silhouette. That was acceptable. Two joined me; Zach at the small of my back and Roxy on the top edge of the sofa to gaze outside through the locked storm door. This dance of logistics was the last hurdle to complete trust that first visit. We drifted to dreams, albeit, different dreams and snoozed comfortably together through the combined voices of the clocks for the next few hours.

I judge that morning as a complete success.  I give the Missus thumbs up for her intuition in realizing that her dogs deserve the comfort of the best piece of furniture in the house. For many years, I shared the best naps of my career on a beautiful teal leather couch.