The pug as a three-legged stool

Big doin’s on the dog front today, none of them good.

Last night, Gordie was almost roadkill when he barreled through Scott’s homemade fence chasing after a lousy little Shih Tsu. I hate those yappy little dogs. The owners paraded their dog in front of our house for about five minutes, knowing perfectly well that they were agitating young Gordon. Before we knew it, he was under the fence and nearly onto our busy street. So this will mean Scott will spend the weekend making a new fence; in the meantime, Gordon Blackstone will be outdoors on a leash.

Today, I accidentally hit Ming with the door and now she’s come up lame. I don’t think the leg is broken, but she’s walking like a three-legged stool right now. Can’t put weight on it. We’re praying this won’t require a visit to the vet, along with X-rays. It’s not a cost we can afford particularly since both Scott and I need dental care. It occurred to me that Ming might have some osteo issues related to being 12 years old. I didn’t hit her hard — really.

I was thinking a few weeks back that being a shut-in, as I am, doesn’t shelter me from bad stuff happening to me.

A few years back, I decided to stay away from the world because of my anxiety, and it seemed to work. But I’ve learned in the last couple of years that you can’t escape good or bad stuff even when you never leave the house, especially if you’re a parent or a dog owner.

I was minding my own business when the toxic oil spill happened at my last house. It wasn’t even my oil spill — it was the neighbor’s. I was looking the other way when my son decided to become a father. I was doing my nails when my biggest work client gave me the boot. And I was laying on the couch when my muscles seized up.

Eventually, everything requires action. You know, it’s the law of physics.

The oil spill forced me to move. The pregnancy forced me to faced my fears about letting go. My firing forced me to seek new opportunities. And, of course, the muscle situation forced me to the gym.

Everything that has happened, in a strange way, has made my life better or at the very least gave me some perspective.

I don’t know what to think about the dogs. I live in fear of their passing, as they are all aging. But I will have to come to grips with that, too.  Losing these dogs will mean losing a part of me. Both Ming and Gordie have been with me over a decade, and Hannah the baby is getting up there.

Hope this is just a flesh wound.

I don’t think I’m ready for another crisis right now.


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