I have not owned a dog bed since it's a bulky item and I have nowhere to store one when Casa de Canine is vacant. Most dogs prefer the couch and bed anyway, so I figure it's pointless to buy what is essentially a giant pillow that costs twenty to fifty dollars because the word "dog" is in the title. I bought one for Harry because it was on sale, but it was so huge and bulky, he got lost in it. Then when I washed it, the zipper broke, so I returned it since I wasn't that keen on it anyway.
Stella has enjoyed the couch, but more and more I find her sitting in front of the couch, staring at it, not really ready to make the jump up. I have placed her front paws up and she just steps up the rest of the way. However, I'm thinking perhaps she's a bit achy, and when she sits there, she's weighing whether the moment of misery in jumping up is worth the hours of comfort on the soft surface.
Yesterday I watched her walk into the bedroom, and when she didn't come back out in ten minutes I went in to find that she was merely sitting on the floor, looking longingly at the bed, somehow believing that she might be able to will herself up there. Monday night before bed, while I was in the bathroom Stella pulled a Harry. I walked out to find the pet blanket on the floor and Stella in an entirely different room. Harry was loud and clumsy; Stella operates in Super Secret Stealth Mode. She can move in complete silence.
The only noise Stella makes is when she's sleeping. I was lucky enough to capture it (my apologies for the Blair Witch-esque cinematography--I was in a rush to start recording):
At least now I know what her bark sounds like.
That was where she sleeping--in front of the television--when I felt like taking a nap of my own, now that I had the couch to myself. When I awoke, I glanced over, didn't see her in her spot and then sat up, looked over the coffee table and found this:
You might remember this stuffed dog as Harry's first foe and later his chew toy. Here's the thing: in order for Stella to put the dog in this position, she had to drag him away from the side of the couch and then flip him 180 degrees to face the couch again, and then knock him on his side in order to use him as a pillow.
Looking at this picture, it makes me a little sad. I was told that Stella really loves other dogs. Her sickness has secluded her to my dogless apartment, and she can't even approach other dogs if we happen to see any on our short walks. This big stuffed dog really doesn't compare to snuggling up with another canine buddy. And clearly she wanted that more than jumping up on the couch to cuddle with me.
When I walked into the bathroom, I found the neat pile of towels that I had used for her bath the other night was unraveled. She really had gone in search of a comfy place to sleep. For some reason being with me was just out of the question. Do I snore that loudly?
So today, I decided it was high time I give my guests their own place. I wanted to get Stella a vaporizer (after reading the humidifier box, I learned that my 1970's humidifier emits cool air for moistening dry winter air, whereas a vaporizer emits warm steam which is what one needs if one is congested). So, during my trip to Target while getting a "warm mist humidifier," I checked out the pet section. I found one durable-looking dog bed that seemed pretty compact for storage and it was only twenty dollars. Oh, but wait, here’s another that I think might match my décor and is just the right size for Stella. It looks soft and cozy, and sure it's more expensive, but it matches my living room.
Since I couldn't decide, I bought both, and when I opened the front door holding two dog beds and a vaporizer, Stella was still on the couch. I put down the fluffy decorative pillow and told Stella it was hers. She looked at me glossy-eyed from beneath the towel she was curled up under on the couch. She was not looking well. She did not eat breakfast this morning. I was worried. When my helper couldn't make it this morning, I had to drag poor Stella to the vet with me almost two hours after her dose was due so the vet could inject her, which was far more traumatic than had I just done it myself.
The car ride and feeling my stress had made green goo come cascading out of Stella's nostrils, to which the vet tech said, "She hasn't improved at all," despite me explaining that eating and stress cause this and that she is much better than the day I got her. I asked if there was something I could do for her throat. She so badly wanted breakfast this morning, wagging her tail while I was getting it ready, but then when I placed it down she hopped around it, sat down, leaned over, and then just gave up. Her throat hurts too much to swallow. So what can I do?
The vet's answer: nothing. He said we could take more tests, but it didn't mean he would change his course of treatment. I asked if a vaporizer would help, and he said, "you can try it." He didn't seem to be in a good mood. Finally he just came right out and said it: "I don't think we're going to cure her; we just have to make her comfortable."
"Well, F--- you."
I didn't say that. I just walked out with Stella, got another week of meds and realized why all this time he seemed so relaxed and easy about however I was administering the medication: because he didn't think it was going to work. Well, you know what? That makes me want to fight harder. Which is exactly why I went out and got her the vaporizer and beds that afternoon. That thing I wrote about the Angel of Death being able to come get Stella: I take it back. I take it all back. I will not accept the vet's opinion, and I want no such negativity around Stella. She's going to get to better. I have faith. This is not a dog who is ready to die. This is a dog who wants to be in the sunshine.
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There was a moment when I thought that her one day of greatness was just her one last hurrah before the end. And then while I was driving home with dog beds in the front seat, I thought: what happens if I walk in and she's passed away on the couch?
But I think those things because I'm a writer. Stories are neat and tidy and have distinct plot lines to follow and scenes to go through. Art imitates Life, but Life isn't always neat and tidy. It doesn't always follow the easiest logic. Sure all life has the same conclusion, but there's an infinite number of ways to get there. And Stella's still a long way from that ending. It's a murky path she walks on right now, but by no means is a shortcut to the end. It's just a rough patch. And no matter how muddy I get, I'm sticking by her and helping her through it. The sun will shine again--in Los Angeles and on Stella.
In the meantime, she's got a comfy place to rest up and dream away the rainy days. (I can't take it back now: she already snotted on it.)
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