Jackson, Day 4: Lazy Sunday
10:23 a.m.
Sunday morning — the kind of Sunday morning where you don’t want to get out of bed. There’s a gentle, constant rain and the daylight coming through the living room window is diffused by the last of the fog. Brother is curled up at my right side on the sofa, Sister is in her customary position between my feet on the ottoman. Jackson’s stretched out under my chin like a lightly snoring scarf. He is warm and soft and still has a hint of that new-puppy smell. We’re all in that place between awake and asleep. In this moment, all are content.
Flashback to 8:05 a.m.
I wake up startled, wondering how a tiny puppy let me sleep after sunrise. He’s quiet. Too quiet! But there’s no need to wake me when he’s already relieved himself in his cage! What a way to start the day. I stumble to the bathroom accompanied by a soundtrack of Jackson’s banshee howling, as I have dared to leave him caged while I take care of my own needs and then get Brother and Sister outside. Since it’s a nasty rainy morning I use the tie-outs. Then grab Jackson’s leash and bring him out of his cage, while he thinks it’s a great fun game to try and bite my fingers as I search his tiny collar for the miniscule attach ring. I finally get him outside, where Brother and Sister are glaring daggers at me from the porch because they hate the rain and will not venture into wet grass. Well, I’m out there too! Deal with it! I take Jackson for a walk up and down the driveway and, wonder of wonders, he poops outside!! Praise, praise, praise. We’ve both had it with getting wet so we head for the door. Brother and Sister do the same, and so I can’t open the door because the three dogs jockey for position and now Jackson’s thread of a retractable leash is tangled in the tie-outs. Over and under, around and around, but by the time I get it free, I’m soaked. I straighten up to see that the gutter is coming off the side of the house. At that point, I’ve had it. I pick up the puppy and carry him into the house, set him in the hallway and close the kitchen door. Oh, unhappy Jackson, screaming at a level that convinces the neighbors I’m stretching him on the rack, just because I closed the door. I get Brother and Sister back in, unhook his tieout, unhook hers, but she is caught. At first glance it looks like the tie-out is just looped around her leg, but no such luck; it has somehow become tightly knotted in the thigh fur of her hind leg. She is upset, pulling, shrieking, and making it worse. The flashlight doesn’t help me see the situation, and I stumble around the kitchen looking for my spare glasses. Finally I have them, and a package knife, and must now juggle that with the flashlight, hope Sister doesn’t stick her nose or tongue down into the operation, and also deal with Brother’s sudden urge to give me kisses and make it all better. Meanwhile, Jackson’s protests at still being behind a closed door have reached a level and intensity that must have the neighbors calling the cops, envisioning whips and chains, convinced that the poor innocent puppy is about to be chucked into the nearest volcano. Careful and dextrous fur-surgery sets Sister free, though I still can’t figure out how she got tangled up to begin with, and I’m finally at a point where I can open the kitchen door…Jackson goes quiet. He’s also tangled up in his leash, and has pooped in the hallway. A lot. To the extent where I start to wonder if this is poop somehow cosmically stored up from his past life as a Great Dane. Everybody get away, don’t walk through it, let me get a bag, why did I ever think I could do this…
But that was then.
10:25 a.m.
In this moment, all are content.