THE BUD SAGA - PART 12

I’ll be stopping at a doctor’s office this morning before going into work. It’s a private clinic. It seems that since I’ve signed papers stating that the young doctor I’ve been seeing (rarely) is my family doctor, I now need to wait a minimum of 30 days to get an appointment. It’s just as well. Although I did like the doctor, his receptionists are another thing altogether. The past two times I’ve had to deal with them, both on the telephone and in the waiting room, they have been extremely arrogant and rude. Overworked maybe, although I don’t accept that as an excuse from any of the employees at our office. Before I react in kind (read – telling them to stick it!), I’ll just go elsewhere. Who needs the headache? I would just as soon pay, and have peace of mind. I’ve spent more money on things less important than my health.

My appointment is early, and I still have to find the place, so will post the next chapter of my Bud Saga and prepare to leave.

YOU WANT ME TO BABY-SIT WHAT??? - The Phone Call

There was no voice-mail feature on the telephone, but there was an ID gadget, and with it you could see the numbers of the last twenty-five calls received – unless it was from a cellular or confidential number, in which case it uselessly indicated ‘Private’. When we returned from the vet appointment, I checked the list, and ‘Private’ had called six minutes before our arrival. The same ID had appeared when my friend had telephoned two weeks before, so I was reasonably certain that it was his call I had missed. I turned to glare at the pit. “It was your fault! If you hadn’t messed in my car….!” His reaction was typically ‘Bud’ – none whatsoever.

While waiting for my friend to call back, I passed the time by giving the house a good cleaning, preparing a meal for his arrival from the long journey, then gathering up my own things which I threw into my backpack. I was going home!!!

My joy was tempered by the realization that some things here I would really miss - Beef and Ben with their endearing ways; the fantastic view and the long walks under the trees; and especially the perfect calm of those nights rocking by the fireplace, the only sound being the labs’ occasional sighs, the logs crackling in the flames, and the wind in the chimney.

That one snapped me back to reality. Right! It was only calm after the pit would settle down. Or on the weekend evenings, when his forays, chasing his blocks of ice up and down the hill, would so wear him out that he would snooze soon after eating. At this very moment he was already starting to bug the labs. Due to his hopping on only three legs and the cone around his neck preventing any serious nipping, the ruckus was less rowdy than usual. It was time for his medication. I mixed the pills with a bit of canned food, then removed the cone so he could reach the dish and the water pail. When the phone rang, I raced to pick up the receiver.

“So you are there now. He was trying to reach you.” Ah –it was the lady with the impeccable telephone manners!

“Hello, Helen. How are you?” I asked deliberately. There was silence for a moment. She ignored my question. Related to Bud, are you?

“He won’t be able to call you back. I have things I must tell you.” Which she proceeded to do without preamble. As I listened, my knees went weak. I felt myself fold to the floor.

My friend would not be returning today. In fact, there was no set date for his return. The only certainty was that it would NOT be before six months. He hoped that I would stay on at the house, but he would understand if I decided to leave and go home.

“I told him you could not handle the little dog and about all the damage. He was surprised and very upset, more about the dog than his house. That little one is his baby. My poor son nearly cried when he heard about the cage. He said you are spoiling his dog.” She stopped talking. If she was waiting for a reaction, she wasn’t going to get one. I was totally speechless. This can’t be happening! My brain slid into neutral. I barely heard what she said next.

“If you wish to stay with the dogs, I am to arrange for a truck to move your personal things to the house. There will be no cost to you. If you want to leave, I will prepare my garage for the big dogs. They are obedient, so they will be little trouble after they get used to being tied outside. I will need a day or two to prepare for their arrival.”

Tie Beef and Ben outside? But they’ve never been tied a day in their lives!

She continued. “I refuse to keep the little one. He will be put down. My son does not want him to go to someone else. He said that dog has a strong character, and will probably be beaten now that he has become so wild. Then he will become dangerous. My son is very sad, it breaks his heart, but he agrees that it would be better this way. He told me not to tell you, but I think you should know.”

I was going to gag. Her words had sent my stomach all the way to the bottom of my feet, and now it was rushing back up. “I have to go,” I gasped. Something in my tone must have tipped her off.

“Call me back with your decision,” Was her voice breaking? “I will do according to what you wish.”

I think I was kneeling at the toilet before she hung up.The three dogs were standing in the bathroom doorway when I finally lifted my head. They paid attention to anything out of the ordinary, and this counted. Seeing them there, I struggled to my feet and made my way into the kitchen. They followed close behind me.

In spite of my efforts to block it out, bits and pieces of her one-sided conversation flitted in and out …minimum six months… tied outside… put down… breaks his heart…your decision…. And how in hell did it become MY decision??

It was all I could do to keep from screaming aloud. I shook my head to clear it again. This would never do. In a split-second I knew what was needed. I was going to get drunk! Not that I do my best thinking when under the influence…it was a bottle of wine that got you into this in the first place, remember?...but I needed to completely detach myself from this whole thing before I cracked.

I grabbed my coat and car keys. The pit was finally beginning to deduce that these actions meant a stay in the cage. He lay down, trying to make himself invisible. I paused for a second, then left him loose and headed to town. Go ahead, you little Sh*t. Do your worst!

I was back within the hour, AC/DC blaring from the car radio, a six-pack of beer and a half-pint of tequila in the bag beside me. I noted vaguely that the only mess in sight was the torn toilet paper roll, but that was a regular occurrence whether I was in the house or not, so no big deal. I sat in my rocker and cracked open the first can.

Three beers and one tequila shooter later, and the stress level had lowered. Alcohol only enhances one’s mood, of course, and my predominant sense about the whole situation was that it was so sad. - sad for my friend, a true, decent person who cared deeply for his dogs but was unable to be here; sad for me, sitting in the rocker, blubbering and feeling like I was caught between a rock and a hard place; sad for the dogs, because their lives (in the pit’s case, literally) depended on someone (me) who was really not stable enough to resolve all of this (hiccup) damned sadness!

I wasn’t finished the fourth beer when exhaustion set in. I needed my bed. Stumbling a little, I stoked the fire, and started for the stairs. With one foot on the bottom step, I peered at the dogs. I was dimly aware that they had been very quiet tonight.

“Humph! Nice try, you little Sh*t.”

I realized though my haze that I was slurring my words, and then that they had been very mean words. I looked at the three of them. “Okay, guys. I’ll sleep on it,” I promised.

And I did. Sleep. The last thing I remembered was the soft touch of the feather pillow under my cheek.

My waking was much ruder!

(To be cont’d)

Every day has its surprises, and I hope all they’ll be good ones for all of you. Sending you my SMILE!

Luv from the Bush in Quebec