the lessons and labors of a long weekend
A three-day weekend, for us, typically goes one of two ways: a grand adventure--maybe a couple of them--or a stretch of much-needed quiet and relaxation. This Memorial Day weekend delivered neither of those things. We honored the occasion, instead, with stress and productivity. And stress. (It definitely bears repeating.)
A quick glance inside our refrigerator is the sole evidence a person would need to deduce that this should have been our grocery weekend, only we found ourselves without a vehicle, and there are no shopping options within walking distance of our domicile. Old Mother Hubbard, we empathize with your cupboard. Upon the last Fitzgerald errand, the car stalled, nearly leaving Dennie stranded. It was only with the aid of two bystanders that our vehicle was coaxed the rest of the way home and into our driveway. Without wheels, there would also be no replenishing of our food supplies. And, before you ponder the obvious, this is no metropolis. Getting the car towed to a garage on a weekend--let alone a holiday weekend--was, like the vehicle itself, a nonstarter.
If we dedicated an entire day to it, and both of us went to help with the bags, we might have been able to take public transportation into town for groceries, though the perishables would likely perish in the number of hours the return journey would require by bus. Yes, that would be hours--plural--and that's to say nothing of the health concerns of either of us traveling in an enclosed metal box potentially full of airborne contagions. Plus, we're not keen to leave Maisie home alone all day on any occasion, but especially now. In the past week, we've detected signs of worsening arthritis in our girl. After much research and a virtual consultation with a vet, we added a new supplement to her diet that we hope will ease her joint pain as well as the persistent itch of her seasonal allergies. She's been on Cosequin since she was about thirty-months old, as German Shepherds tend to age younger than other breeds, with graying muzzles at two or three years and gradually appearing mobility issues. Now we've added Welactin, an omega-3-rich fish oil formulated specifically for dogs. It is generally safe--reactions to it are extremely rare, but if they do occur, it's often within hours but can be within the first couple of weeks. I won't gamble with my pup's wellbeing. I've stayed close to watch over her since her first liquid dose. So far, so good. She likes the smell and the taste, eliminating any need for trickery on our part, though the benefits result from a cumulative effect, therefore it could be a few weeks more before we know if Maisie is feeling any real improvement.
If this seemingly minor dietary change doesn't sound stressful, clearly you've never loved a dog as you would your own child--feeling her pain as if it were your own--or witnessed how rapidly an arthritic animal can deteriorate. Our girl's appetite is, thus far, unchanged. She remains positively giddy to embark on her daily constitutionals. And, though she has noticeably slowed down in her senior years, she does still grin at us every day. These are reassuring signs, every one, but we've traveled this path before. We are well versed in where it leads and how quickly a sunlit trail can wend its way into a darkened wood. As always, we treat every moment with our baby as precious, and we will relish every day and every smile as they come.
And if she suddenly needs to get to her vet, right now we have no means to transport her. More stress for the parents who adore her.
The car situation is still up in the air. We'll have to get it towed into town, then deal with the uncertainties of repairs and transportation in the meantime. With any luck, a much-smaller-than-usual stock of groceries will appear on our porch today as both DoorDash and Instacart have added us to their delivery areas. We've never used either service before and have multiple reservations about someone else doing our shopping and safely handling our food, yet, needs must. Convincing a contractor to take the job and deliver this far out of civilization, however, requires a hefty tip, making our already expensive little order a significant strain on the budget. We're still waiting on our delivery--assuming it is fulfilled--so we have not yet experienced the relief of a restocked refrigerator. No point counting our chickens until the eggs arrive unbroken. Metaphorically speaking. (We didn't dare entrust a stranger with eggs on this, our inaugural delivery experiment.)
While cautiously watching over our pup and trying to navigate unfamiliar delivery apps and figure out a plan for the car repairs, we kept busy with odd jobs. Saturday morning, I photographed and installed the new trio of hand-painted signs I'd just completed, then I tackled the laundry and the dishes. Dennie dug a hole at the end of the driveway (no small feat in our rocky earth) and sunk a new sturdier mailbox post in Quikrete to replace the wooden post that had cracked in two when it was knocked down last October. Sunday, Dennie started cleaning up the back deck for summer while I assembled a multi-tiered cat tree in the living room. (That, in itself, is a story for another time.) Then Memorial Day rolled around--a federal holiday, a day for hikes or barbecues or family gatherings. Teleportation might have planted us in a lush wildwood with waterfalls and warblers and will-o'-the-wisps, only it's ever so difficult to ensure that all three of us are deposited in the same location. (Also, the impossibility of this mode of travel could be interpreted as a major hitch in the plan.) So, in lieu of an exciting expedition with our dog, I gave the mailbox a good cleaning, scrubbing away years of collected pollen, dust, and debris while Maisie sighed the ennui of a dog who did not consider this activity remotely riveting. I dried the metal thoroughly and added new reflective numbers as well, then--together--Dennie and I installed our old box on our new post, and that, at least, was one stress lessened. No more trips to the post office simply to collect our mail. Bonus: our DoorDash driver has a far better chance of finding us with a visible house number near the street.
As our three days off drew to a close, we settled in for dinner and a movie, enjoying the eight-armed wonder and observations of Remarkably Bright Creatures' unusual narrator. Despite our lack of Memorial Day adventures and our abiding concerns for Maisie, like Marcellus, we were glad to be home
.This was the lone respite and these were only some of the many labors of our long weekend. So what, you may inquire, were the lessons? Well, I could reflect on gratitude--which we have in abundance--or pontificate on the satisfaction of industrious days and jobs well done, which would, indeed, have merit, but I'm going to go with this: if we want to hit the trails with Maisie anytime soon, we either need to learn how to teleport or find ourselves a nice cleaning lady with a ginormous bucket on wheels.
UPDATE
Our first DoorDash grocery-shopping-and-delivery experience was not the fiasco I had anticipated. Not only did it arrive this morning (I had doubts anyone would really come out this far), everything was there and in good shape--not even a single torn or punctured yogurt lid. Hey...we've all got our priorities, and I am a girl obsessed with her yogurt.