Creative writing submission from the Rest Less community – submit your entry here.
Whenever I haven’t written for a few weeks, I start to panic. Has my mind gone blank? Will I ever write again? Have I lost my touch? To me, writing is precious. It’s a key part of my mental health, staying positive, and simply being me. It’s not just the writing process, it’s the feedback I receive that reminds me that even though I live on my own, I’m not alone.
All the people who drop me a line are part of my online support group and, without my writing, they’re not there and I miss them! That said, whenever I’m experiencing a ‘dry spell’ something always comes along to kick start the process and I’m off again, sharing the ordinary and mundanity of my life.
I was out all day yesterday doing some voluntary work and, as you may know, both my beasties are now ancient – in their 16th and 17th years respectively. Ila is mostly blind and deaf and Arthur has dementia, meaning that when I leave them for more than a couple of hours, I worry.
Thankfully, I have a wonderful friend and neighbour who comes to check on them, let them outside, and, often, keeps them company for an hour or so while having a cup of tea.
I trust her implicitly. She’s kind, sympathetic to their needs, and they like her. She also has experience of dealing with a very elderly dog herself, though sadly she lost hers some years ago.
The beauty of this arrangement is that we’re able to help each other so that it’s a two way street. She has another dog now, so if she’s out all day, I spend some time with her dog, making it a quid pro quo arrangement.
I’m a very light sleeper and I remember when they still had their previous dog, I was woken one night by her distress calls. As my friend sleeps at the front of her house, she hadn’t heard her. The ancient dog had gone outside through the dog flap for a midnight wander and had managed to get caught inside a black bin bag – and now she was stuck.
In the dead of night, I hopped across the lane, let myself in their gate with my key, and quickly and silently extricated her from inside the black sack. Once safely disentangled, she simply wandered back in through the dog flap, laid straight down on her bed, and was snoring before I’d finished cleaning up the rubbish. Bless her. Her owners were completely oblivious.
Anyway, yesterday it was chucking it down and on my neighbour’s second visit to check in on the dogs, both wandered outside into the rain whilst she tried to keep dry in the kitchen. Worrying about how long they’d been outside for (knowing Arthur’s propensity to get stuck these days), she retrieved her shoes from the front door, grabbed her umbrella, and went outside in search of them.
The text message I received from her had me laughing out loud as she described trying to prop her brolly between her shoulder and her chin to free up both hands as she tried to guide the dogs home. She said, “it was like trying to herd cats.”
Just as she managed to get them close to the back door, one would veer off. As she struggled to turn that one around, the other would wander off again, back down the garden and in the opposite direction. At one point she said that Arthur blundered into the near blind Ila, knocking her sideways, and Ila looked at her with a quizzical expression, seemingly asking, “why aren’t you helping me?” Though, of course, she was trying to!
My friend said she found herself giggling out loud at her own exploits as, soaking wet, she battled to kindly and sensitively get both dogs back in through the kitchen door. It was pelting down and they were both being unapologetically awkward (albeit not deliberately).
As an ex-dog trainer, I learned early on that Shiba Inu aren’t like any other breed – and never will be. Unless you want to teach them tricks (which they’re always up for), the word ‘training’ is abhorrent to a Shiba Inu. Anything which might suggest your being the boss is studiously rejected.
Ila was five when she first came to live with me and I was struggling to communicate with her. I rang her breeder and previous owner to ask what ‘commands’ she’d used with her. There was an inordinately long silence followed with a quizzical, “Commands?” That said it all.
I’ve always said that living with Arthur was like living with baby Einstein. He was always one step ahead of me and I learned to control him through ‘negotiation’ and mutual respect, sometimes struggling to remember that he was, in fact, a dog!
Anyway, I literally spend hours these days trying to patiently ‘herd cats’, and get Arthur and Ila from point A to point B. I find myself in a kind of bemused acceptance of the time it’ll take me, regardless of anything else I might have to do.
With her blindness, Ila will always be under my feet or blocking a doorway, and will she move? Nope! On the other hand, Arthur is constantly wandering around the kitchen with a chair on his head, getting stuck in corners, or finding himself transfixed to a wall. With his ‘reverse’ function now completely gone, I’m forever having to rescue him, use cushions to block corners, and extricate him from under tables and chairs.
Am I complaining? Certainly not. Yes, this is my life now, but they still have a good time and, most importantly, love cuddles. And, like my good-hearted neighbour, I’m forever laughing at the situations we find ourselves in together.
Another friend said only last weekend how patient I am with them and how much I do for them – but why wouldn’t I? They’ve given me the best years of their lives and so much more than I’m being asked to give them now, so it’s easy. Add to that the fact that they literally make me laugh out loud constantly and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I’m a realist, I know our time together is limited now and soon I’ll face the worst of what’s to come. But, whilst their quality of life is still good, we’ll get through the little hiccups together. I’ll go on ‘herding cats’ come rain or shine, forever moving objects, picking up chairs, wiping down walls, blocking up holes, gingerly stepping over Ila whilst she stands steadfast blocking the hallway, and having to invent new ways of gently getting them to come inside. This is my life now, and you know what? I’m grateful for it!
Are you feeling creative? We are proud to have a hugely talented community on Rest Less, which is why we’re so excited to open up a section of the site dedicated to showcasing the wonderful and diverse writing of our members. If you have a piece of creative writing that you’d like to share with the Rest Less community – you can do so here.