My mother has spent the night in Sydney with my sister, which left me to hold down the fort. And baby-sitting one geriatric beagle, two rabbits and five cats with a wide selection of emotional issues. It’s… exhausting.
But I managed to feed and water all the animals, make endless trips outside to make sure the dog hadn’t fallen into the fountain or gotten stuck somewhere (or simply stopped in a corner; I found her next to one of the toilets, just staring and unwilling to leave) and still finished off the washing, tidied the kitchen and made myself dinner. But, somehow, I didn’t make it to bed until after 2am.
And then I needed to be up at 6am to release the cats from the laundry and make sure the dog could go outside for bathroom breaks. Then I went back to bed for four hours, and quite frankly, I’m contemplating a nap. Considering it’s almost 1pm and I’m still in my jammies, it wouldn’t be that hard. But for some reason, I need to get dressed before I nap. It feels less slothful that way.
But I digress. The dog, Molly, is very attached to Mum. Understandable since Molly is partially blind and deaf, with the canine equivalent of dementia and is known to have ‘turns’, so Mum is the most consistent factor in her life, the Master. I’m the Playmate. So Mum disappearing for a day is a Big Deal. For a small dog,she’s high maintenance. But we survived with no accidents, and she tucked herself into her bed in Mum’s room and I figured as long as I was up early enough to make sure she could go outside, it would be all good.
Except, I got up to find her asleep. On the kitchen floor. Waiting for Mum. I took her outside and went back to bed, only to get up hours later and find her asleep on the kitchen floor.
Waiting for Mum.
Just so sad.
The crazy thing is that even though she’s old and not the same energy filled Family Protector she once was (she almost bit my father for surprising her when she was younger. We’ve all had the urge to hurt my father, so it’s funny), I still feel better when she’s around. Our yard is huge, and we have a low fence, combined with the fact there’s a pub at the bottom of the street, it can get kind of creepy late at night. But the dog went walkabout, so I donned my thongs and grabbed a flickering torch and ventured out to find the dog. A shame the torch only shines about thirty centimetres in front of me, and not very well.
I was scared.
And then the elderly beagle appeared and I felt better. Because even if we got into trouble, it would be me protecting her, she still makes me feel safe. I hope that even with the mean cats and my frustration that I’m probably doing everything wrong, that she feels safe with me.
I shouldn’t blog when I’m tired. I think I’ll join her on the kitchen floor.