I decided to wear this Tie o’ the Day in order to be sorta blendy with my shirt. Not matchy, just blendy. Today, I’m playing the clash as low-key as I know how to play it, because Skitter is ailing and I don’t want to add any loudness to the vibes of the house.
The tiny part of Skitter’s face you see here in the photo is pretty much all we’ve seen of her for the past three days. She hasn’t wholeheartedly performed her “chew dance.” She hasn’t even finished eating her daily chew treats. She’s kept herself in her beds, under her Suzanne-made blankets. She does, however, seem to want to do her convalescing right next to me or Suzanne. She has to be close enough to reach out at least one of her long legs to constantly touch one of us. Her paws are pokey.
We don’t have a clue what’s got Skitter down. She doesn’t limp when she walks. She’s not throwing up. I felt around in her mouth, and her teeth and gums seem fine– stinky but fine. She’s not the kind of mutt who digs though garbage cans so I doubt she’s eaten some dangerous food scrap. I also don’t think she has Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD).
On the other hand, dogs can sometimes sense somethin’s up. Dogs get vibes. The Dog of My Life, the late Araby, once physically and literally saved me from suicide. Araby had passionate, heightened senses when it came to knowing and watching over me.
The mind-meld Araby and I shared also made Araby an excellent editor of my writing. I used to read drafts of my poems to her, and I could tell by how she moved her facial muscles as I read whether a poem needed more work, or whether it was worthy of being sent out for publication. Not one poem Araby okayed was ever rejected for publication. Araby got me. And she got what I was trying to say in my writing. Hell, sometimes I don’t even get me, let alone get what I write.
Dogs get it. They compute. They sometimes call us on the b.s. they see us pull. They can save us from our own mis-steps. Some dogs have better intuition than others, just like some people do, but they all feel us to some extent. So how could Skitter not be hip to the shifts in my bipolar tectonic plates? Poor thing.
Knowing Skitter as well as I do, I’m confident my current mental state is not what’s making her feel icky. I’m sure she’s aware of my crazy head, and I’m sure she worries a bit about me right now. I have no doubt she senses my current depression, but she’s never joined me on my bipolar arc before, so I don’t think she’s following in my head’s swinging now. I think she simply has some kind of doggie flu bug in her system. She’ll be prancing to the mailbox again alongside me and my pendulum head any day now. And I’m hoping it’s tomorrow.