Puppy
It unraveled pretty quickly if you ask me.
I’d shut myself away in a bedroom to listen to a podcast and fold laundry (which is the equivalent of a Hawaiian vacation in my world), so I was enjoying the quiet when the sound of howling made its way up the stairs. The cockatiel heard it too and stopped playing with the fringe on the carpet long enough to tilt his head toward the floor to make sure he was hearing correctly. We looked at each other and agreed the puppy had woken up. I extricated myself from the pile of clothing and offered my hand to the bird, he obliged by stepping up and allowing me to put him on a basket off the floor while I went to check on the dog.
Howling isn’t good where a puppy is concerned and I hurried to the kitchen to see what had transpired in my absence. Puppy came dancing over to see me with a prancing-goat-jump-step thing she does. Giving her a pat, I stepped into the kitchen and square into a ginormous puddle of pee she had placed directly next to her potty pad. Bending down to remove my squishy sock meant puppy had direct access knock her skull into mine and lick my face, neither of which movements caused me much happiness. I reached for the spray and the paper towel when my toe hit something sharp. It was then I realized an element of danger had entered the game as goat-puppy had knocked a plate off the dishwasher (probably containing a forbidden toast crust) smashing it on the floor. Pieces of shattered dishware lay scattered like a minefield. Grabbing the leash off the counter I scooped up puppy and held the leash out to Grandma. “Can you hold her please while I get this cleaned up?”
Grandma was sympathetic and spoke to the dog about injustice issues while I managed to get the pee cleaned up and started sweeping up the broken plate. At that moment another adult entered the kitchen and asked what was for lunch. I managed a chirpy response as Grandma and puppy set to looking in the fridge for the leftover soup. Puppy was remarkably keen to get into the fridge as my mother put leftover beets, cauliflower casserole and pork on the counter asking each time, “Is this the soup?” Puppy started her goat jumping trick to see the containers and better, imagine eating leftovers. Figuring I could speed up the process, I gave directions, “Square container, top shelf.” “Ah ha!” was the response as Grandma pulled the soup from the fridge while puppy-tigger bounded in appreciation of the find. Sensing disaster, I grabbed the cauliflower from the counter and the leash from Grandma and tried to steer tigger-puppy away from the fridge so Grandma could remove the soup without incident. Stupidly, the leash and the cauliflower casserole both ended up in my left hand. Mistake. Satan dog, sensing my intent, lunged for the fridge as it was closing and sent the cauliflower container and my left hand in the opposite direction of my body. My favorite curried cauliflower dish landed with a delightful “plop” on the floor as the puppy moved in for the kill. Launching herself at the largest floret she could find, she bit it, walked it 2 feet and then spit it out on the floor.
By this point in time I had identified the sense of dismay hovering in the back of my psyche. It appears when the universe has conspired against my mental health. I was losing. I was awash now at the hands of providence and wisdom dictated I should try to get out before I lost my temper. Grabbing the paper towel again, I started to mop up the cauliflower. The puppy, pleased to have me on the ground again, came for my face at which point I growled, surprising us both. Enter another functional, able bodied adult into the kitchen asking what was for lunch and I just about started barking. Grandma made a comment about the injustice of the demise of the cauliflower, followed by a comment or two about the best way to heat soup. I threw the Tupperware in the sink and decided the best way to extract myself from my losing streak was to take the puppy for a walk.
Running upstairs to return the cockatiel to his cage, puppy in tow, I secured birdie, who was moderately upset to be returned to his cage, put on new socks and flew downstairs and through the kitchen. Offering (again) my opinion in regard to reheating soup, I excused myself and headed with puppy through the back garden. Sighing, I stood still under the apple tree to quiet myself and psycho dog. Opening my eyes, I stepped straight into a spider’s web with a fat spider in the center. When the spider and I had finished screaming and wiping off our hair and faces, I sped up and made for the back gate where I stepped in deer poop. Shouting in disappointment, I wiped my shoe in the grass as the dog ate the poo with unfettered happiness. So much for the worming medication we fed her 3 days ago.
Undeterred, I pushed through the back gate onto the street and stood while puppy sniffed and snuffled. I took half a dozen steps before, I am not lying, it started to rain. The puppy looked at me expectantly, “we are going for a walk,” I told her and pulled at her leash. Puppy however, wasn’t convinced. She made it 100 ft. down the street before she lay down in protest. No amount of encouragement could move the critter either. “Fine, you win, let’s go home.” When I changed direction, puppy jumped up, ears flopping, bounding toward home. I walked gingerly through the garden, avoiding deer excrement, walked in through the front door thus avoiding the kitchen returned to my bedroom and sat on my bed. Jumping-satan-goat puppy crawled under the bed and immediately fell asleep which was a wise choice all things considering. Tears were very near and in an attempt to push them off I tried to think of something to be thankful for. My friend texted me last week and suggested that when I was feeling bleak thanksgiving might be a lifeline. So I took a deep breath and thanked God for toast.
Yep.
That’s what I landed on.
Toast.
Frankly that was the kind of day I was having. I might have thanked God for my children or husband but they were the reason I was a parent in the first place and I didn’t like any of them at the moment. However, I could thank God for toast and thank him I did. After thanking him for the versatility of toast I moved onto the toaster and the electricity that powered this marvelous appliance. I moved onto the kettle and tea after that, followed by linoleum and indoor plumbing. It was a bizarre prayer time but I don’t think God minded.
Sometimes my friend, the only thing that holds back the darkness is a genuine sense of thanksgiving for one of life’s small blessings. So go ahead and thank him for the small things. The sweater you found on sale, the fragrance of your favorite flower: nothing is too small for mention. In fact these tiny things can redirect you back into the sense of his love and care. Sometimes I wish I were the type of person who could instantly thank God for his unending grace or infinite mercy but sadly I’m the type of person who has to start with toast and work my way up.
So I’m praying for you this week dear heart if you, like me, feel a bit done and toasted. That you would be able to have the courage to try again, to shake off the myriad of things that continue to go wrong and to keep on marching, putting one foot in front of the other until the road gets less crooked and until you are able to sing with ease.
Until then, I’m gritting my teeth and praying for you.
XoxKaren