If you do not like dogs, labrador retrievers in particular, stop reading. I am not joking. Last night I got a delivery of groceries (this my guilty pleasure). I emptied all the bags on my counter and started thinking of meals to prepare. I love to cook and have become adept at making small meal portions that I freeze. I am happy as I cook and listen to the radio with interest as to how the Mets will do. Matt Harvey was going to be pitching later and he is a budding star. I was making multiple meals. I made four fancy hamburgers. I doctored up pasta sauce with lots of onions and home made meatballs. I cooked up some beets and put fresh chives on them. I made a chicken and bean sprout dish. I am set for at least a week in terms of meals. Life is very good.
My black lab Kate loves it when I cook. I am a sloppy cook and nothing that falls on the floor is left to chance. Kate watches me like a hawk. The minute I move away from the stove top she rushes over to eat and lick the floor clean. Last night was no exception. Kate is thrilled when carrots, a bit of meat, an onion, celery or any food item hits the floor. She is like a vacuum. I am cutting and chopping away when I notice Kate is even more interested in me than usual. She is laying down on all fours and starts to inch closer to me. Surely I am not going to notice. But this is out of the norm. I chalk her creeping towards me to the smells of garlic, onion and cooking meat. I ignore her until I realize she is directly under my wheelchair and licking the floor with gusto. Her unadulterated joy is palatable. However, inching under my wheelchair in the kitchen is not allowed. She only goes under my wheelchair when she is afraid or feels danger is nearby. Something is clearly going on. I did not drop a big piece of meat on the floor or make any other sort of spill that would cause such happiness on her part. I order her to move and I discover the source of her pleasure. I scratched my toe agains the brick wall in my kitchen and am bleeding. I am bleeding a lot. Kate likes my blood. Scratch that. Kate loves to lick my blood. It gives her unparalleled joy that is rivaled only by her second favorite thing to lick--cream, specifically aquaphor. What is a single cripple guy supposed to do? I need put a band aide on my toe and douse it with hydrogen peroxide. My skin and wound care kit is in my bathroom. I am still bleeding and will leave a blood trail I do not want to clean up. Then it dawns on me I need not worry. Kate will follow me all the way to the bathroom and clean the floor with joy and vigor.
My toe is fine and Kate appears no worse for the wear. I was a bit worried about her though. Licking up blood cannot be good for her but I put my mind at ease--she was her usual energetic self in the morning. Her tail was wagging away and she had love in her eyes. Her entire body was pulsing with energy and was dying for me to get up and play. What a great relationship I have with her. The bond we share is humbling. I am as devoted to her as she is to me. But I have a confession. Kate is a unique dog. Like me, she does not understand bipedal people. In fact she is terrified of steps, a fear that I find fascinating but understandable. Steps are not relevant to her life or mine. She also has no clue how to physically move around people that are bipedal. If a person is walking toward her she does not move. Not an inch. She expects a bipedal person to alter their direction. In contrast, Kate understands wheelchair movement. She knows exactly what to do once I move or any other person using a wheelchair moves. Although Kate is highly social, she prefers to interact with people that use a wheelchair. Line up a dozen people, one of whom uses a wheelchair, and she will go to that individual every time. She will put her chin on this person's thigh. This has led me to wonder about the bond I share with her. Am I closer to her than your typical, meaning bipedal, dog owner? Does she know I am different? If so, is she protective of me? Does she sense the social stigma associated with wheelchair use? Sadly, I will never know the answer to these questions. I will end with this thought as it is time to go outside with Kate and have some fun.
7 comments:
I am going to post to you (via email) a photo of Don with the big red kelpie Thorn - so I know exactly the relationship you have with your doggie - some doggies are exceptionally aware
Middlechild, I will try and post a picture of my lab KAte today.
This story really makes me want to get a dog.
Shannon, The decision to own a dog is important and complicated. One must look very far into the future--the life time of an animal that will be dependent upon your care. While dogs are a lot of work, the joy they bring is nothing short of remarkable. The bond one can form can be life changing. Owning a dog can also be devastating. They live a relatively short life. I still deeply mourn the death of my faithful yellow lab Burt. I cannot contemplate the end of Kate's life. Ugh, what a depressing comment I have penned. I will go outside and play with Kate. This always cheers me up.
My service dog gravitates towards wheelchairs, scooters, walkers, and other adaptive equipment and maneuvers around them easily unless someone distracts him. My border collie had some trouble at first and still does; he was several years old when I started with the scooter. Both dogs know how to move around me and even how to get on my lap without hurting me--this is quite an achievement because of the pain.
I know my SD picks up on the stigma--when I told one of my doctors how physically stressed I'd been by being excluded from the museum, my dog stood up and paced and came to my dr. as if to say, "fix it; it was upsetting." It was very clear to both of us that my dog knew what I was talking about. He's always been cool as a cucumber there before.
He may not understand all the words, but he knows enough words to understand when people say he or we can't come in.
Frida, Dogs never cease to amaze me. Like you, they have a sense of stigma we experience. This is very difficult to explain. For example. KAte walsk to my right all the time because my scoleosis is cork screwing me that way. Hence she approaches all people that use a wheelchair from the right. Eight years ago my mother's right leg was amputated. The first time Kate saw my mother she went to her right. My mother disliked this and pushed her away. Kate then went to her left side my mother preferred. Kate has never approached her from the right. Kate knows her preference, a preference that was not taught.
"Then it dawns on me I need not worry. Kate will follow me all the way to the bathroom and clean the floor with joy and vigor." This made me snort and giggle somewhat, probably more of a sniggle. Thank you for the story.
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