A Dog’s Life, Part I

The Cast: Chelsea Mai is a Shih Tzu, well into her 14th year and still strutting her stuff with the best (and youngest) of them. Ralph, everybody’s darling, was found roaming on an Oregon logging road some 10 years ago, came home for a bath and somehow never left. We never knew what breed Ralph was,if any, until a serviceman walked in one day and exclaimed over our Australian Terrier, saying he had two at home. Ralph’s head has been just a bit cockier since that day. RC is a crazy mix of Doberman, Black Lab and something else – we’ve never known what and it’s never mattered. We’re not sure of George’s ancestry either, but I married him and we’ve all gotten used to him.

George’s day begins between 2:30 to 3:30 a.m. Like many of us, Chelsea has grown unable to get through the entire night without going to the bathroom. She walks to the door of the bedroom, body slams it and sits down waiting patiently while George jumps up and gropes for his sweatshirt, kept at the ready at the foot of the bed. He grabs Chelsea, removes her shirt, carries her down the stairs, out the door and into the pitch black darkness. If the weather is mild, Chelsea will stroll around just gazing at the stars and getting in a few good scratches (George has the patience of Job). If the weather’s cold or rainy, she’s out to do her business faster than Jimmy Cricket, back in the house and up the stairs. George trudges up after her, wrestles her back into her shirt (she gets cold – bad circulation), places her on the foot of the bed under a pile of covers and crawls back into bed. I’ve been awake throughout this entire ceremony, but no sense in the whole house getting up.

The alarm goes off at 5:30. George reaches for his sweatshirt once more, removes Chelsea’s shirt, cajoles Ralph out of his bed and back down the stairs they go. This time there’s a detour to the laundry room for RC and then the three of them head outside – into the blackness. Upon returning inside, RC’s bed is carried from the laundry room to the den where he immediately takes up watch to oversee all activities of the household for the remainder of the day. When I hear George trudging back up the stairs, I know it’s time for me to get up. He is accompanied by Ralph and Chelsea. Ralph immediately returns to bed where he remains until forced to get up. Chelsea is on the bed and in my face if I don’t immediately shoot up to a standing position. Many mornings I have awakened to the unnerving stare of those two black bulbous little eyes…nothing need be said. She patiently waits for me to don sweats and slippers and then she runs down the stairs ahead of me, exploding through the kitchen to just inside the dining room door. This is her command post from which she orchestrates all activities for the remainder of our day. I cover her with her pink banky, give her a quick rub and stumble for the coffee pot.

Everyone knows the routine – make the coffee first, followed by breakfast put on the table for George. I then disappear up the stairs with his cup of coffee so that it is steaming on the bathroom vanity when he steps out of the shower. Back down the stairs I rush to put together his lunch. Three fruits, fresh veggies with dip, soup, a bit of something sweet and his noon vitamin. RC and Chelsea know every sound by heart. When the cupboard door is opened and bowls removed, RC’s eyebrows arch dramatically and he rolls his eyes upward to check and make sure I am keeping to schedule. He relaxes a bit as their three bowls are placed on the countertop. The brown rice, ground sirloin and green bean casserole is removed from the fridge, along with the container of Missing Link. Then over to the other cupboard to remove the dry food (very expensive, no preservatives, all meat fit for human consumption…you know).

Once everything is carefully measured out, into the microwave goes RC’s bowl. Forty-three seconds – any longer and it gets too hot. While that heats, I empty his water bowl, wash it and refill it with fresh water. When he hears the three beeps of the microwave he rises and moves out to the laundry room…on a good day. We have had days in the recent past when I have to assist him a bit in getting up. But, one way or another, we get him out there and he dives into breakfast. Now Ralph’s bowl goes into the microwave and as it heats (twenty-three seconds…only half as much food ya’ know), I head to the foot of the stairs calling “Come on Ralph, let’s eat”. I usually do this no more than twice before I raise my voice an octave and wake up the neighborhood. Eventually, Ralph appears downstairs and approaches his steaming hot breakfast and fresh water. Chelsea has not moved. She is still huddled under her banky. At this point, let me say that I have neither poured myself a cup of coffee NOR gone to the bathroom, but who am I?