I awoke with a start and looked at the clock. It showed 5:02 and I quickly sat up, listening for movement from the downstairs kennel. Nothing. Could she still be asleep? Quietly, I found my glasses, put on my socks and tiptoed across the creaky wooden floorboards to the no-less quiet stairs. One-by-one, I began my descent. I reached for the doorknob, bracing for its squeak and slowly opened the door. There she sat, across the room, in her kennel. I went directly to her, opening the two latches, waiting for her to sit quietly before I opened the door, and invited her out. Not stopping to fuss, I opened the French doors to the dining room, moved toward the kitchen, turned on the overhead stove light, said hello to Graycie, and placed the pink collar and leash on Ivy. I unlocked the door, and said hello to the dog that appeared to have grown overnight. She yawned, sat, got up, and moved toward the kitchen door and the outdoor lighted steps to the yard. Graycie ran out ahead of us, encouraging Ivy’s movement down the stairs. Another day begun.
Today marks three weeks since the little bundle came to live with us. In some ways it seems a long time; in other ways, like the blink of an eye. It’s hard to imagine life before Ivy. I don’t have to anymore. There’s no time for thoughts of that nature.
She is more predictable than that first day she arrived. Now, she gets up, pees, drinks water, eats, poops, pees. Feeding time is interesting as she is not particularly food-motivated. I place the kibble in the palm of my hand and she is willing to take it. I place more on the cool, tile floor and she cleans it up. There’s something about that big stainless steel bowl that doesn’t interest her. I’m learning, too.
I keep her still during the hour after she’s eaten, and she is fine with that. She sleeps on or near my feet, or with one of her soft toys, near my chair. I drink coffee, read, or watch the Eagle Cam on my computer. I look forward to the day she will join me for my quiet time on the porch, but currently, it’s not quiet when I bring her out there. It’s dark and too difficult to follow her movements when I’m trying to pray.
As soon as she decides she’s rested enough, it’s out to the yard she goes. Another pee. Most times, another poop. More water. And then…she’s off! Retrieving balls, biting bones, crawling under the hutch, pouncing, barking at Graycie. Moving, running; playing; going outside again; watching, listening, going outside again. There’s a rhythm to this dance, and after a while I can’t help but feel a part of her world.
About an hour or so later, boom, down she goes. It’s the end of her busiest time of the day. It’s when (in addition to indoor play) I walk her around the yard; today we ran in circles—six times, six times, five times. It’s when I wish we had a fenced-in yard; she has energy to burn. I’ve told friends that she plays hard and sleeps hard. Her snores confirm that.
Routines change from day to day, but I force myself to look at consistencies and focus on the things she does well. Yesterday morning was one of those times that did not go well. I had been up with her since 4:30 and at 9:00 decided I needed a shower. I thought she was ready for rest and she agreeably stepped into the kennel with her usual treats and safe toys. Her usual fussing did not cease and I was, by then, already soaking wet and unable to get to her. I called out words of comfort over the hum of the shower. I dried as quickly as I could and dressed. I went to the kennel with my hair dripping to find that she had already pooped and stepped in it. I whisked her outside knowing it was my fault. She tried to tell me, but I didn’t reach her in time. I bathed her, cleaned the tub, scrubbed the kennel, put her mat and toys in the wash, and went back to finish my preparation for the day. My hair had begun to dry into an unruly mess and at that moment I wanted to cry. Yet, she rested. My hair eventually dried. I got dressed. And, life went on.
Welcoming Ivy has filled a gap. Her questioning head-tilts make me laugh. The way she pounces on an unsuspecting toy is pure delight. Her excitement at seeing me warms my heart. Watching her grow and learn gives me hope.
Saturday, February 29, 2020
12 weeks, 1 day
