by Kristen Otte
I hear a stirring on the bed.
“What is that?” Hannah mumbles. She flips on a light and shines it my direction. With my one open eye, I see her glance at me on the floor.
“Zelda, what’s going on?” She picks me up and sets me on the bed. I shake and paw at my eye. “It’s okay,” she says, petting my head.
“Nate, wake up.”
He grumbles something and eventually rolls over. “What?”
“Zelda. Something is wrong with her.”
I hear and feel Nate move on the bed, but both of my eyes are closed now. I’m trying to relax, hoping my eye will be okay.
“I think it’s her eye.”
I feel Nate’s hands around me. He moves me into his lap. I open my one eye and look at him. The lights are on now.
“Hi, Zelda. Can you open the other eye?” He reaches toward my face, but I squirm. He gets a firm grip, and I feel his fingers on my eye. I let out a squeal as he lifts my eyelids. I squirm and fidget, and his fingers move away from my eye.
“She’s definitely in pain. Something is wrong with the eye. What time is it?” he asks.
“Two in the morning.”
“Let’s give her fifteen minutes to see if she will calm down and sleep. If not, we need to take her to the emergency vet.”
Vet? I don’t want to go there. Is Gannondorf back?
The shaking worsens. I can’t stop it.
“Okay. I’ll look up the closest place to take her.”
I hear Hannah move out of the room. Nate continues to pet my head. It feels good to be in his arms, but I can’t shake the panic and the pain I feel. The shaking continues. My heart races in my chest, and I want to run, to get away from all this, to feel better. I force my body into motion, but Nate reigns me in before I go anywhere.
“Zelda, it’s okay,” he says.
But I don’t believe him.
“The closest vet is about twenty minutes away. I called to double-check that they are open.”
“We should take her. She isn’t settling down, and her heart is beating too fast for her little pug body. Plus, she keeps trying to run away from me.”
“Wake the kids?” Hannah asks.
“I think so. One of us will have to hold her while the other drives.”
“I’ll hurry.”
I listen to the sounds of Ben and Lucy moving. Nate hands me to Hannah, and she carries me down the stairs. Soon we are in the car driving somewhere. I can’t remember where they said we were going now. The pain is too great. I can’t focus.
When we stop, Nate carries me inside. I peek my good eye open, but it is dark outside. I don’t recognize anything. Inside, the place reeks of dogs, but I can’t concentrate to make out the smells. I hear Hannah and Nate talking. I am handed to someone new, but I don’t fight it anymore. I shake uncontrollably as fingers grapple me. They try to open my eye, but I can’t let them. It’s too painful. They stop poking. I feel a quick stab of pain in my side and then everything goes black.
When I wake up, a lady is passing me into Nate’s arms. I feel so tired, but my eye feels okay. I lift my head up, but something stops me. I have something around my head.
What is this?
I try to figure it out, but my fatigue overtakes me. They carry me to the car, and I pass out.
When I open my eyes, I am in my dog bed, but the bed is on the floor of Hannah and Nate’s room. My eye aches, but it doesn’t hurt like last night. Something is tied around my head. I stand and realize it’s like a shield that comes out past my face. It’s heavy around my small head. I walk, but when I look down, the shield trips me. Ugh.
“Come on Zelda. Let me help you.” Hannah scoops me into her arms and carries me down the stairs. She places me on the couch next to Nate. He is sipping coffee.
“Hi, Zelda.” He pets my back. “Your eye isn’t green anymore. That’s a good sign.”
I sit in his lap, hoping he will take off the shield. He doesn’t. I lie for a few minutes before I stand. I need some water. I walk to the edge of the couch. Before I can jump, Nate lifts me to the ground.
“That’s not a good idea right now,” he says.
What? I can’t jump anymore? I wander into the kitchen, taking it slow so I don’t hit anything with my head shield. I go to the water bowl, but I can’t reach the water with this stupid thing. This cone might be worse than Gannondorf, the tapeworm.
“Here, Zelda.” Hannah puts a large bowl on the other side of the kitchen. I take gulp after gulp. The water feels great in my dry mouth. When I finish, I go to the back door and sit.
“Nate, Zelda wants to go out.”
“Okay.” Nate puts on shoes and picks me up. He sets me on the grass in the back. The sunshine stings my eye. Plus walking and getting around with this thing on my head is not easy. A few days ago, I was the queen of this house and a legend in the dog park. Now I can’t even walk straight.
What happened?
I sulk through the yard back to the door. Peach is waiting by the door. Nate lifts me up the steps into the house. He lets Peach out. She runs free through the backyard. I watch from inside the door, wondering if that will ever be me again.
The day passes by slowly. I am stuck spending most of the day on the couch. I can’t do much because of my cone head. I think that’s what Hannah and Nate called it. Lucy has stayed by my side most of the day, petting me and keeping me company, but I miss my adventures and mischief. Peach keeps checking on me and trying to lick my face, but she can’t reach it because of the cone.
My eye hurts from time to time. When it hurts, I close my eyes and sleep it off. Usually when I wake up, it feels better for a bit, so I get some water or food. Then I lie down again, and the cycle repeats.
When the darkness comes, Hannah and Nate take me into their room. I sit on the dog bed, looking at their bed.
“Okay, Zelda,” Hannah says. She lifts me on the bed. I try to cuddle with her, but the cone gets in the way. Frustrated, I groan and plop down. “Do you think we can take the cone off for the night?” My ears perk up.
“I don’t know. What if she scratches her eye in the middle of the night?”
“Yeah. I guess you are right. Let’s keep it on.”
“At least for tonight. Maybe tomorrow we can see how she reacts to it being off.” Hannah nods, and a small gleam of hope fills me. Maybe the cone won’t be on my head forever.
The next morning Hannah takes the cone off my head. The freedom of head movement is wonderful. I can eat and drink without having to concentrate on lining up the cone with the bowl.
They let me outside into the bright sunshine. I run through the backyard, but after a couple minutes, my eye is burning again.
Oh no.
I run to the back door and lie on the couch with my eyes closed. The burning fades after a long time. I move around the house again, but I have to take it easy now. I can’t be the pug legend anymore. I have to be a boring, run-of-the-mill pug. I sigh and plop in Lucy’s lap, hoping one day I will be the adventurous pug again.
5
The Race
Even with the cone off my head, I take it easy by spending most of the day indoors on the couch. My angry bird taunts me, but I don’t play with it. After four dark sleeps, I step outside into the bright morning light. For the first time, my eye doesn’t burn or even ache, so I take off, sprinting in a circle through the backyard. But after I run one lap, a terrible thought enters my little head. I stop. What if I slip and tumble? What if Peach chases me and swipes my eye by accident? I can’t risk another injury. I trot to the door, and Nate lets me inside the house.
I reclaim my spot on the couch and sleep away the next day. I wake up the next morning to almost darkness, but my face is stirring in the house. I head down the stairs to see what they are up to before the morning light is out. Lucy and Ben are eating at the table. Hannah is wearing her walking shoes.
“We need to leave in a few minutes,” Hannah says.
“I’m ready,” Nate says.
Ben stands from the table and takes his bowl to the sink. He runs up the stairs. Hannah takes Lucy’s bowl to the sink. Lucy puts on her shoes.
“Zelda, go outside,” Nate says. He opens the door, and I oblige. Peach joins me outside a few minutes later.
When we return inside, Nate has our harnesses in his hand. He puts Peach’s harness on her first. Without thinking, I start my pre-walk dance through the living room. Nate is quick this morning. He catches me after one circle, and we leave through the back door.
Wait a minute. A car ride?
I bounce from one side of the car to the other. I stand on Lucy’s lap and look out the window, but the car turns to the right. I fall forehead first into the glass narrowly missing smashing my eyes into the window.
Ow.
That was a close one. I shake it off and back away from the window. I settle into Lucy’s lap.
We arrive a few minutes later. People and cars are everywhere. Hannah and Peach lead the way through the crowd. I stay close to Ben’s side, afraid to get trampled. Nate leads us to a calm spot in the grass. After sneezing seven times, I investigate the grass with Peach while we wait for Hannah. She has disappeared in the crowd of people.
A smell invades my nose. Another dog is near. I look up, but I can’t see anything through the crowd of people. I look to Peach. Her ears are standing straight in the air, facing forward. She is on high alert. I pull my leash in the direction of the smell, but Ben yanks me the other way. The yank causes a wisp of pain to flutter through my head.
Oh no. I can’t pull on the leash. That’s a bummer.
I sit in the grass and wait. I watch Hannah walk through the crowd to us.
“Ready to run?” she asks Peach.
Wait, what?
She takes Peach’s leash.
“We will cheer you two on from the course,” Nate says.
“Good luck Mom,” Lucy says.
“Beat all the other dogs,” Ben says.
What is Peach doing? Why am I not going?”
Hannah smiles, waves, and then leads Peach away from us. They disappear into the crowd.
Hannah took Peach with her? What is going on?
I slink further into the grass and lie down.
“Let’s find a place to watch the race,” Nate says. He leads us through the people. I sidestep through all the feet and legs, trying to avoid an accidental stomp on my little pug body. We stop at a place in the grass close to the road. A loud boom echoes, and my fur stands in the air on my back.
“Daddy, what was that?”
“It’s okay, Lucy. That’s the start of the race.”
“Do you think that Peach will run the whole time?” Ben asks.
“I don’t know.”
“I think she will,” Lucy says. From down the small street, I see a group of people approaching at a fast clip. They scurry past, but I see no sign of Peach or Hannah.
“Where is Mom?” Lucy asks again.
“She’s coming,” Nate says.
I sit and wait, staring at the street. I catch a faint trace of Peach in the air before I see her. Peach and Hannah are jogging on the path together. Peach’s eyes are wide open, as usual. She is running beside Hannah.
“Good job, Honey,” Nate shouts. She smiles and waves.
“Go, Peach, go!” Ben yells. Peach doesn’t turn her attention from the road in front of her. She keeps running and in an instant they turn the corner and vanish from sight. A moment later, a man and his big brown dog jog past.
Peach isn’t the only dog running!
My first instinct is to chase the dog, but I stop myself. I can’t pull on the leash. But I also don’t want to be stuck on the sidelines.
“Time to move to the next spot. It’s close to the finish.” Nate leads us across another grassy field. I can’t believe that Peach is on a run or walk or whatever it is without me.
We stop close to the small road again and wait. The people on the path approach one at a time.
“There they are,” Ben says. He points across the way to the path winding around the corner. I see Hannah and Peach. They are running together. As they approach, I see Peach’s tongue bouncing outside her mouth. She is having so much fun.
“Finish strong!” Nate shouts.
“Good job, Peach,” Lucy says. Ben whistles. Hannah waves as they run past us on the path.
“Come on,” Nate says. He jogs forward following the side of the path. People line each side shouting and clapping. We hurry into the cluster of people. I see Hannah and Peach ahead. Hannah is bent over, breathing hard. Peach has plopped on the grass with her tongue hanging out.
“Great job,” Nate says.
“Peach was the first dog to finish!” Lucy says.
“She did great,” Hannah says, in between breaths. Nate grabs a bowl from a bag. He places it in front of Peach and empties water into the bowl. Peach drinks the water in seconds, and he refills it. I walk to Hannah and give her a lick on the hand.
“Thanks, Zelda,” she says. “Ready to go?”
“Only if you are,” Nate says. “We can hang out here for a bit if you want.”
“Let’s go. I could use a shower.” Nate and Hannah lead us across the grass in a slow walk. I trail behind them with my tail limp. A week ago, I was the one in the spotlight. I love Peach, but I should be running with Hannah, too. Somehow I have to figure out how to move forward, past the pain and the fear of getting hurt. I have to regain my bold pug spirit. But how?
6
The Rain Storm
During the next few days, I start to take a few risks in hopes I can move forward. I play with Lucy and run around in the backyard. Peach instigates a game of chase with me. We sprint through the backyard. The playing helps me feel more normal, but I know I’m not one hundred percent. When Peach tries to wrestle, I hide under the bed or behind the couch. I can’t get past the fear that a rogue claw will scratch my eye. I need something special to get me out of this rut and to get my confidence back. I look for anything out of the ordinary, like a good old-fashioned adventure or mystery to solve.
This morning, gray pillows fill the sky, covering much of the light. Today is not a day to play outside, so we hurry outside and run back indoors.
The rain begins to fall a little later in the day. The pitter patter of the rain on the roof lulls me to sleep. I drift in and out of consciousness for the entire day, awaking only to scarf some food.
When I awake the next day, the light isn’t bright yet. I wander down the stairs. Nate lets me outside. The backyard is wet, and a cool mist soaks my pug fur. I scamper to my spot, then sprint back inside.
Moments later, a loud crack echoes from outside. I hear the whoosh of the wind, followed by the pounding of the rain hitting the ground and the house. A flash of light streams from the window and lights up the sky.
I stalk through the house, figuring out what to do with myself during another rainy day. I am stuck inside again, away from any potential adventures. I don’t want to sleep another day away.
I find Peach trembling under the kitchen table. She hates storms. I try to get her out from the table. I bring her an owl, then a tennis ball, and finally a nylabone. She takes all the toys from me, but doesn’t budge from her safe spot under the table. I even sneeze in her face, but she doesn’t move.
Disappointed, I head to my perch on top of the sofa and watch the storm. The rain falls in streams on the grass, reminding me of the water trail and water walking adventure. That was so much fun. An idea pops into my pug brain. I leap off the couch and run to the back door. I look out at the backyard. It looks wet, but it’s not close to a water trail yet.
I go to the living room and find a blanket folded up in the corner of the room. I drag it to the spot in front of the back door. I spread it out and make myself comfortable. I face the backyard. My eyes watch the rain fall as I wait for the backyard to fill up with water.
When my eyes open later in the day to the steady sound of rain. I look in the backyard. Small pudd
les have formed throughout the yard. It’s still not like the water trail, but it will have to do.
I stand and bark at the door. Peach comes to my side.
“Nate, can you let them out?” Hannah says.
“Yep. I’m on it.” I hear the rumble of footsteps approaching. “Do we have a towel down here?”
“No. Do you need one?”
“I don’t need one, but I think the dogs will. It’s pretty wet and muddy out there.”
“Okay. I’ll grab one.” Nate slides open the door. I run out into the warm, humid air. The rain is falling in a steady pace. Within minutes, my pug fur has soaked up a ton of water. I run to the back of the yard, splashing with every pug step.
I wait for Peach to catch up, but after a couple minutes, she isn’t anywhere near me. I spin my head and see her at the door. She hasn’t moved since she came outside. I sprint back to the door. I bark, encouraging her to come with me. She doesn’t move.
“Peach, go,” Nate urges. After a staring at Peach for a few minutes, Nate walks away from the door and returns with shoes on his feet. He lifts Peach into the air and sets her down further into the backyard.
“Go!” he says again. She turns to go inside. He lifts her again and brings her even further into the backyard. Again, she runs back for the door. On the third try, she gets the hints and wanders through the rain.
I dash to her, trying to get her excited and ready to run with me. But when I run to her, she runs straight for the door. Nate lets her inside, and I am alone.
Peach might not want to stomp through the water, but I do! I dash from one end of the yard to the other, jumping and stomping in as many puddles as possible. After three laps, my body weighs twice as much as normal, but I start another round.
I sprint and leap into the biggest puddle in the yard. The water splashes in every direction, including in my face. The water burns both my eyes for a second. I freeze and resist the urge to paw at my eyes. Instead, I blink a gazillion times. The burning sensation goes away. I look around the yard. The scene is crystal clear.