Riding Life!

Riding Life!
Life is like a wild horse--Unless you ride it, it will ride you! (from the movie: "Princess of Thieves.")

Sunday, September 7, 2008

C: Can I Get You Something for that Headache? (or, Found: "Happy Pills")







This morning was take-out-the-trash day. This is a chore that I have been accustomed to leaving to hubby or my son. Since neither of them is here any longer, it falls to moi! I was determined to do my duty!

Of course, duty can get in the way. I had a 9:30 a.m. appointment—no problem; I had plenty of time. That is, no problem until you factor in my “dutiful” (new) exercise regime. I got out and did a brisk walk. It was invigorating! It ran me late…

I dressed in my lawyer clothes, congratulating myself on remembering the trash, a task I normally manage to repress. I went out with the first bag (yes, there were multiples, being the trashy person that I am) and stowed it in the “way back” of my little SUV. I left the back door open and went in for more. As I returned, my heart warmed; there was my Chili (one of my dogs, a Belgian Malinois), laid up in the back of the car.

“Awwww,” I thought. “Poor Chili wants to go for a ride! How sweet!” Then I noticed the bottle.

Lying on the ground behind the car was the Tylenol bottle that had been rolling around in the “way back.” For weeks I had been meaning to bring it in and take it to V, out of whose purse it had come. I had pitched it to the back from the beverage holder in the front, intending to retrieve it later, so I knew it had been least half full…not any more.

The bottle lay there, chewed to a plastic smithereens. I searched the gravel of the driveway—no Tylenol pills were to be found; not a single one. There could be only one explanation: they now lay in Chili’s stomach.

I was alone. On my on. Late for work. Knowing I had work piled up and a client on the way. There was no husband to call and either help me or lend a listening ear and give advice. No, it was just me.

Now, I know this sounds suspiciously like whining, and that’s probably because whining is just exactly what it is! Nevertheless, let me just say that there is great comfort in at least having someone who is “yours” to call and say things like, “You’re not going to believe what Chili has done…What on earth am I going to do now!?”

The question would have been rhetorical. Of course there was but one thing to do, and I certainly don’t need a husband to help me figure that out. It’s just the connection thing. I could have called my sister or brother or my best friend but, somehow, it’s just not the same. This is one of the aspects of single life I’m not liking.

I eyed the dog. Maybe he would be okay…but what if he was not okay? I love Chili. He had been my emotional salvation. He is beautiful, smart, noble and loyal—much more loyal, in fact, than the scumbag husband who had betrayed me—Chili would never have done that! No, I could not take a chance on my Chili dog! I called the vet and in a few minutes we were on our way to the dog equivalent of the ER.

Chili was elated! He was on a road trip! The elation was not to last.

When we went in, Dr. Peck was ready with a large syringe and a huge bottle of hydrogen peroxide, which he began to force down Chili’s throat. Chili was horrified and begged me with his eyes, with his paws, with his body language to intervene and stop this torture! He was so big and so uncooperative that he had to be sedated, but this only after I had managed to wrench my knee while trying to hold him still.

Finally, and quite without so much as a burped warning, Chili vomited—just what we had been waiting for! Unfortunately, it was projectile and aimed right at the object of his affection and petition for relief—me. My suit was ruined. For the day at least.

Dr. Peck, out of the three of us, was the only one really pleased. Now that Chili had regurgitated, he was finished! I was too, in a sense.

We went home so that I could turn my mischievous dog out to run and change my soiled clothes. In spite of it all, I managed to make it on time to the office…only to be stood up by the new client.

The morals (multiple) of the story for me:

1) I don’t need a man to help me decide to take the damned dog to the ER;

2) Not having a man to whimper to when life gets bumpy is not really such a big deal;

3)And now for the combo epiphany: You can only be where you are; don’t sweat the small stuff. Where I was that morning was running late and encountering unexpected roadblocks. There was nothing I could do about it once in the midst of the situation. What I learned: relax, find the way as best you can and don’t sweat it. My near-tardiness did not matter one whit—the client did not even show.

Maybe, just maybe, I can manage to manage myself without the dishonest betrayer I used to be married to—actually I already knew this. My yearning to reach out to him was mere pattern I had developed in our 38 years of marriage. The real epiphany is that with each little victory, like this one, I realize more and more that he was a habit, not a need for happiness. And this is making me happier and happier! - C

2 comments:

addhumorandfaith said...

I bet you're a really good lawyer because you're a good talker. :)

These are some very wise words, that if I am alone someday, I will remember and try to emulate. You rock, girl.

addhumorandfaith said...

By the way, I don't plan to leave a comment on EVERY one of your old posts, but I just want you to know that I DID leave a long, I feel very eloquent, comment on your FIRST post, but blogger vomited it back at me -- kind of like you with Chili, only I didn't have to change my clothes.

Just wanted credit for trying even though I failed. :) (It was bloggers fault!!!)

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