Take a Good Long Leak....August 21, 1999

Take a Good Long Leak....August 21, 1999

Last evening, whilst clicking away another late night journal entry in a seemingly fruitless effort to get caught up, I heard a boisterous ruckus going on in my bedroom beside this office. I need not tell you who was the antagonist of such disturbance, but I will.

Moo

Apparently she was punishing me for not getting her and Reekie to the park for their daily romp. Having my Thursday client, combined with no sleep overnight, I was just too tired. My exhaustion has long lasting consequences, for Moo had been pestering Reekie and the cats for hours this evening. Being so late in the day, or early in the morning, I had listened to enough growls, barks, scampering, yelping, and perpetual clicking and scratching of paws and claws on floor and carpet. I am sure my neighbours had as well. I abandoned my journalling, seemingly monentarily, to reprimand my canine anti-christ. I found her at the foot of the bed whimpering, and Willow on the middle of the bed doing the best impression of the lin king her inrtoverted self could muster. Shooing both of them out of the room, I noticed that my bedding was damp, soaked actually, at the bottom corner. Initially I thought Moo had a little accident, and chastised myself for not bringing my laundered sheets from Quincy's that afternoon. She had an accident alright, in the form of a nail puncture in the bladder of my waterbed.

It was the wee hours of the morning, my bed was leaking, I wanted to kill oh so sweet Moo, and I was struggling to figure out what to do. My shovel broke late in the spring, so I was not sure what to do with the body.

Seriously, though, sans a patch kit, I tried to get my brain in gear enough to come to a temporary solution. I did not think the elderly gentleman in the bachelor apartment below my bedroom would appreciate the floating capabilities of the water in my bed as much as I do. I grabbed a roll of waterproof bandage tape, and started tearing strip after strip. Instead of waterproof, it should be labelled water soluable. I think the folks at Johnson and Johnson's got their adhesive mixed up with the KY. Good thing my bed was leaking as opposed to me bleeding to death. Chucking the wad of useless tape, a scrounged around my "things" drawer in the kitchen and found a roll of packing tape. The folks at 3M sure know their business. It took a half a roll to make sure there were no slow leaks, but I was able to bandage up the hole enough to be able to sleep on the bed overnight. I had to set my alarm on the hour every hour, though, for fear that it may spring again.

I think insomnia is becoming status-quo for me.

I miss Quincy. The dogs miss Quincy. I miss Quincy looking after the dogs. These emotions were made prevalent this morning in picking up my 20 yr old Down's Syndrome client. I usually bring the dogs with me for the out of town drive to pick him up, and then drop them off at Quincy's once back in town. Sometimes we detour at the park for frisbee playing or hiking. He loves them so much (I thought) that I am after him every few minutes to not maul them, or let them do their thing. His response is always, "I love dogs".

"I know you love dogs, Greg, but, really, you need to give them some space, please."

"I love dogs."

"Greg, this is not about your feelings for the dogs, this is about respecting their need not to be crowded all the time."

"I love dogs."

This morning, his mother informed me, on his behalf, that there was a problem with the dogs.

Apparently, he told her that one of the dogs scratched him last time we were out. I corrected her, and Greg, by relaying to her that it was actually one of my sister's cats that scratched him, and only after he started being rough with the feline. I figured that, if he was not going to listen to my direction concerning the animals, he is just going to have to learn things the hard way. His mother was not impressed that he lied. I was furious. He carried on the drama once in the car, treating the dogs like they were rabid. He would yell at me and them every time one so much as made a move toward the front. The dogs are a soft spot for me, I admit, but it makes things worse when he first lied, and then gives no basis for the way he was treating them. The best I can figure is that perhaps he is upset with me over something else, and is using the dogs as a way to articulate that. With people with special needs, nothing is ordinary, including communication methods.

It was a long day. I could find no way to resolve the issue, and I had no outlet for the hurt and disappointment I was feeling in having to take the dogs home. It took and extra half hour since I could not conveniently drop them off at Quincy's.

One more day until her return. It feels like a century..

....Blessed Be