I didn’t know how I looked, but I know how I felt: unsteady and sore.
Jane and Walter stayed for a few minutes, doting on me, and talking with Dr. Cranston, until one of the vet tech’s came in to take me back to my extravagant accommodations.
I felt a little better each day, and the staff told me I was healing quickly. I could feel the swelling around my wound beginning to deflate.
Two days after my accident, just like Dr. Cranston had promised, I was ready to go home. It couldn’t have come a second sooner.
24
The reception I received when I came back to SunRidge almost made the awful experience of being bitten by a snake worthwhile, if that’s possible. The residents and the staff were thrilled to see me, and it felt good to be missed and loved.
My swelling was almost completely gone, but I was still a little slow. Over the next couple of days, Jane and Theresa kept me in the front office to keep an eye on me, and make sure I didn’t over-exert myself.
On my first afternoon back, Walter stopped by to see how I was doing.
“Wow, he sure looks better,” he told the ladies, standing in the doorway. “It shouldn’t be long before he’s back to normal.”
I got up, and walked over to say hello. He reached his arm down to pet me, and I slipped inside of his embrace.
“They took good care of him,” Jane said, looking up from a stack of papers at her desk. “And I have the bill to prove it.”
“With the cost of healthcare nowadays, there’s two emergencies for every emergency—the incident itself and the massive bill they stick you with afterward,” Walter replied.
“It’s okay,” Jane responded. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for this dog.”
A few days later, when I was feeling better, Walter came by again—this time to fulfill the second part of the promise he made the day I hid beneath his bed in terror. I walked over to his scooter, and he patted his hand on his lap for me to step onto the platform. I hesitated at first, wondering if it was really okay for me to hop on board.
“He might need a treat, Walter,” Theresa suggested.
“No, he’ll come,” Walter replied, confidently. “This is a promise I made to him.”
“I see,” Theresa responded, amused.
“Let’s go, boy,” Walter encouraged me again. “What are you waiting for?”
I stepped onto the scooter, fitting snuggly between Walter and the front steering column, and away we went . . . the old man and the house dog he once hated, cruising down the hallway.
Our destination was the courtyard, and once we got there, Walter unclipped my leash. I marked a few of the bushes, and then looked up to see that Walter was holding, of all things, a Chuck-It in his hands.
“Ok, you ready, Wrigley?” he asked me, slowly raising the plastic arm extension, which cradled a tennis ball above his head. “Go get it, boy!”
The ball landed a few yards away. I trotted over, picked it up, and brought it back to the side of Walter’s scooter.
“Gee whiz, that hardly went anywhere,” he said, dismayed with his throw. “What doesn’t old age rob you of?”
Walter tossed the ball for me a couple of more times, about the same distance, and I returned each one. Frank, the SunRidge landscaper, spotted our game of casual fetch and came over. He asked Walter if he could borrow the Chuck-It, and proceeded to hurl the ball to the edge of the property. I eagerly jolted after it, quickly bringing it back for another toss. On Frank’s next throw, I brought the ball back most of the way, before settling on the grass to gnaw on it.
“A dog’s life…” I heard Frank say to Walter. “It sure looks good some days.”
“You’re not kidding,” Walter agreed. “It’s hard to believe he can get so much pleasure from a fuzzy green ball.”
With the ball in my mouth, I rolled onto my back. After Frank walked away, Walter drove his scooter over to me, reached down with the Chuck-It, and scratched my belly. Ahhhh . . . one of my favorite things in life—having a ball in my mouth and getting my belly rubbed at the same time.
Later that night, after I left John Stokely’s room, and was heading back to my bed, I was surprised to see Walter sitting alone in the dining room. He called me over, so I took the liberty of crossing the imaginary boundary line.
When I reached him, he began to slowly, repetitiously pet my head, as if he was trying to pacify a restlessness inside of himself.
“Wrigley, I dread going back to that room and trying to sleep,” he finally said. “Last night was a real doozy . . . I must have counted every sheep twice, in every farm in the country.”
Walter told me to stay, while he slowly got up and walked over to the counter by the kitchen. When he returned, he was holding a bowl of cereal with milk, and a handful of dry cereal, which he spilled onto the table. As he fed me one piece after another, he continued telling me his woes.
“During the daytime I’m distracted, but my troubles always find me in the quiet of the night.”
Who needs rest, I thought to myself, happily crunching on another bite of cereal—eating beats sleeping anytime.
After Walter’s supply of cereal ran dry, he got up to go back to his room. I followed alongside him. It was the only time I had been in his room at night, other than during the incident with Corina.
When we walked into his bedroom, I watched as he pulled two long candles from his nightstand drawer and placed them into metal holders. Then he turned off the lights, lit the candles, and got into his bed. I hopped on after him, and made myself comfortable.
“Jane caught me doing this once, and she gave me hell,” he said, as he stacked a couple of pillows on his lap to bring a book closer to his face. “I told her I’ve been reading mysteries this way, since I was a young boy. Some habits stay with you forever.”
After Walter read for a while, I rolled onto my back. It took him a couple of pages to realize I was hoping for a belly rub. But when he noticed me, he reached over, grabbed the back-scratcher beside him, and put it to good use.
25
The slower pace of living at a place like SunRidge can sometimes fool you into believing that time is barely moving, but it steadily, silently marches on.
Summer faded away after a flurry of 90 degree days in late September. Autumn came and went quickly, as it always did, with the trees putting on their annual color spectacular, and then steadily shedding their leaves. There was now a cold in the air, and a feeling that another winter was fast approaching.
I don’t mind the cold weather, it invigorates the husky in me, but I don’t like it when the time changes. It always signals the beginning of the end of taking longer walks after dinner with Jane or Theresa, and playing in the courtyard until dusk, chasing balls or just hanging out. Also, the end of daylight savings confuses my internal clock. The first few days after the time gets pushed back, I always stand at my food bowl wondering why I’m not being fed.
But before winter arrived, Halloween came around. The night reserved for ghosts and goblins was mostly an uneventful holiday at SunRidge. Seniors, of course, are way past the days of dressing up, and candy is off-limits for the house dog. Except for some of the staff members, who wore costumes, and a couple of decorations sprinkled around, you would think it was just an ordinary day. The nicest part about the holiday was when a group of kids from a nearby church stopped by a little while after dinner to say hello to the residents, and get some candy.
Before the Peterson’s adopted me, I celebrated Halloween with several different owners, but they weren’t very much fun.
When I lived with the Phelps family, the parents let me go trick or treating with the kids, and I got lots of attention and even a few dog treats along our route. However, the night turned horrible, when a group of teenagers lit off a loud firecracker a few feet away from where I was standing, and I freaked out. For the rest of the night, I kept wildly darting off with every sound I heard. Finally, the parents took me back to the house, put me in my crate, and cover
ed it with a blanket.
During my time with Norm and Tracie—even though they didn’t have kids—they went all out in turning their place into a haunted house. The kids in the neighborhood loved it, but Norm ruined the night for me by putting a cardboard building on my back that said Poop Factory. Everyone thought it was funny, but I felt stupid and uncomfortable.
A few days after Halloween passed, Jane took me with her to the hardware store to get some things in preparation for winter. Definitely not as exciting as a trip to the super market, but I enjoyed riding the wind in the front seat of her minivan.
While Jane asked the sales clerk a few questions about patio furniture coverings, I sniffed both sides of the aisle in search of something more interesting than bland boxes. When she got what she needed, we headed with our shopping cart to the front of the store.
In the long checkout line—leading to the only available cashier—a teenage girl behind us asked Jane to hold her place. When she returned, she was holding a small bag of popcorn! To my surprise and delight, she began feeding me piece after piece, behind Jane’s back.
Hearing me happily chomp away, Jane eventually turned around and told the girl, “Please, don’t give him any more.”
I looked up at the girl with my tail brushing the cement floor, confident a dog’s desire was stronger than a stranger’s request. She looked back at me with a smile, held out her open palms, and uttered the two worst words in the English language, when spoken in succession: “No more.”
On our way back to SunRidge, Jane gave me a little lecture about my food intake. “You need to slow down, Mr. Chowhound,” she told me, while I looked back at her with a blank stare. “Unfortunately, your stomach can’t always handle everything your eyes desire. God knows the last thing we need now is another vet bill.”
Jane, I thought by now you understood that food for a dog is like sex for a teenage boy—it’s always on your mind.
26
Jane’s timing to buy coverings for the outdoor furniture proved to be perfect, when days later winter arrived early and delivered a wallop.
When Veronica and I walked out to the courtyard the following morning, I could hardly believe my eyes. It snowed in the valley, but never very much, and it usually melted in a few hours. This was different.
The white stuff was packed high everywhere you looked. Jane’s recently covered patio chairs, now blanketed in snow, looked like ghosts. The gazebo looked like a miniature winter chalet, with icicles dangling from the roof. Not long ago I was lying on my back in the green grass, bathed in sunshine—now I was standing amidst a winter wonderland.
Humans, like dogs, need unexpected surprises. They help to offset the monotony of life. I wouldn’t say the residents at SunRidge responded to the huge snowstorm like a bunch of six-year-olds, staring out of steamed windows, rearing to frolic and play, but winter’s first flurry was a refreshing sight.
“How beautiful,” Sandi Schifman observed, looking out one of the living room windows to the courtyard. “All we need now is some Bing Crosby music.”
“Isn’t that something?” John Stokely asked aloud. “I haven’t seen that much snow in years. So long as I don’t have to drive in it, it’s alright by me.”
An hour or so after my breakfast, Veronica took me outside again. A few members of the staff were out there as well, clowning around and throwing snow balls at one another. Veronica tossed me a tennis ball, which sank into the snow, like a buried treasure. I excitedly dug it up, and pranced around with it in my mouth, before finally letting her have it back. While I waited for her to throw the ball for me again, I spotted a snowman in the corner of the courtyard that Jamie, the kitchen manager, had just finished making. I dashed over, jumped up on my hind legs, knocked the poor guy to the ground, and snatched his long nose, which turned out to be a carrot.
Jamie took the destruction of his creation in stride, and everyone laughed, including a few of the residents, who were watching from inside.
The next day, even though the snow still covered much of the courtyard, the walkways had been cleared, and the novelty of the storm had already begun to fade. When I awoke from a nap in front of the living room fireplace, I took a loop around the building. I found Walter’s door open, so I walked inside.
He looked tired, but happy to see me. I sat next to him on the couch, falling in and out of sleep, while he looked over some papers. When he finished, he got up and grabbed my leash from a hook by the door. I hopped off of the couch, and joyously danced around, until he signaled for me to get back on it, so he could more easily clip the leash to my collar.
“At the rate I’m going, Wrigley, if I leaned over to you on the ground, I’d fall over and stay there,” he told me, grimacing in pain.
As we headed down the hallway, I made sure to restrain myself and stay beside Walter’s new walker, which he had recently gotten to replace his cane. He stopped a couple of times to catch his breath, and sat uncomfortably on the seat of the walker. Knowing that it was still freezing cold outside, I was surprised when I realized we were slowly making our way toward the courtyard.
Once we got there, Walter reached into his coat pocket, and grabbed a cigarette.
“The cold air feels good,” he said, breathing out a mixture of smoke and mist. “It helps to clear my head.”
Just then the door opened behind him, and I saw Sally shivering, with a look of disgust on her face.
“Walter, come back inside,” she told him, adamantly. “It’s not a good idea to be out there in these conditions.”
“I’m fine,” he responded, taking another drag from his cigarette.
“Please, finish quickly and come back inside,” she urged him again, before closing the door.
“It’s a devil of a habit,” Walter said, staring down at his cigarette. “I’ve had one of these in my hands every day since I was fifteen years old, Wrigley. I hated it the first time I tried it… Those are the things in life you have to fear like hell, because once you’re hooked, you’re in big trouble.”
I was getting restless standing there, so I started to move around. Walter had my leash tied around his hand, so I couldn’t go far.
As Walter finished his cigarette, the sun broke free from behind a bank of clouds. Nearby, I heard a bird chirping, and I moved behind Walter, spotting the tiny creature, which had landed on the branch of a small bush next to the building. Walter turned to go back inside, but my leash was tangled around his walker. He tried to untangle it, but when he turned to see where the leash led, he fell over toward the bush.
At first I didn’t think Walter had fallen hard, but when I leaned over, I saw a large gash on his forehead. I took a quick sniff at the blood coming from his wound, and then backed away from him, until my leash was free from the walker.
Just as I was about to start scratching on the door for help, Sally opened it. Unlike the night of the incident with Corina, Walter had his nurse call button around his neck and had activated it after he fell.
Sally rushed to Walter’s side, knelt down, and asked him a few questions before running back inside. When she returned, Jane was with her. While Sally called 911 from her cell phone, Jane tended to Walter. Seconds later, Theresa came outside, and took me back to the front office.
Once she unclipped my leash, I paced around anxiously, before following her command to lie on my bed. Shortly afterward, I looked out into the hallway and saw the paramedics hurry by, and minutes later pass by again—this time with Walter on a stretcher.
I wished I had just sat patiently by Walter’s side, until he was ready to go back in, and done nothing else. But dogs get restless and curious. I didn’t know if the accident was my fault or not, but I knew my role at SunRidge was to help, not hurt, and I felt badly about what had happened.
27
During my time at SunRidge, I had become used to waiting for residents to return from various medical procedures. But this was different, because I was involved with the accident that sent Walter to the hospi
tal.
To make matters worse, early the next morning, while I was lying on my bed, I overheard Ron talking to Jane about Walter’s fall.
“I don’t know if it’s a good idea to keep Wrigley here any longer,” he told Jane, drinking a cup of coffee, while standing beside her desk.
“It wasn’t anyone’s fault, Ron, accidents happen.”
“But Wrigley’s had his fair share. Maybe he’s just not a good mix any more with seniors, who are fragile and accident prone.”
“Listen,” Jane said, adamantly. “Do you know how much that dog means to the residents here? Look at Walter. Wrigley has performed a miracle with him.”
Ron shrugged, turned away, and left the office. I never heard anything more on the subject after that.
For the rest of that day and into the next one, I kept a low profile, mostly hanging around the front office and the reception area, sleeping for long stretches, and waiting for Jane or Theresa to take me on my routine walks. I didn’t visit with any of the residents, and didn’t interact much with the caregivers, or any of the other employees.
You might say I was depressed. Luckily, the good thing about being a dog is that something as simple as an unexpected treat, a long walk with fresh smells, or making a new friend, can pull you out of a sour mood in a heartbeat.
That’s exactly what happened the following afternoon, when a new resident named Bee Henning moved into SunRidge. I felt such an instant, strong connection to her, I thought maybe Marjorie had sent her. Happily, the feeling turned out to be mutual.
After Bee finished going over a few things with Veronica, I followed alongside, as Jane took her to her room. Sensitive to what had just happened with Walter, and perhaps recalling her recent conversation with Ron, Jane made sure it was okay for me to stick around.
“Bee, please let me know if the dog is a bother,” Jane said, before we got to Bee’s door. “I can take him back to the front with me, if you’d like.”
All That Ails You: The Adventures of a Canine Caregiver Page 10