Kristen's Notes

Every year I want to go to Prelude. Prelude is a Christmas festival in Kennebunkport, ME. They have a tree in the town square, Santa arrives by lobster boat (!!) escorted by Lobster Elves. There is caroling and the entire town is decorated like something out of a Hallmark movie. All the shops have little things going on, there are Hot Chocolate bars, honestly it sounds fucking magical. We have never gone. For a variety of reasons it’s just never worked out, but 2022 was to be our year.

Until our dog decided otherwise.

We haven’t really been able to leave our dog in the past few months. Ever since the incredibly dramatic jailbreak that happened while we were in the UK, we have been loathe to send her back to the kennel that rejected her. Her own rejection of others like her means that none of our friends with dogs can watch her, and so we are left with perhaps getting a dog sitter. We have been hesitant since the last dog sitter we had let her shit all over the house.

But we weren’t going to let the past hold us back. We found a really nice woman to stay with her, who did not at all seem insane. She seemed like the kind of person who likes dogs and would not either take her on the road, galivanting around town OR let her shit all over the rug. We had a win!

The night before, I packed my bag. I had cashed in two nonrefundable Hotels.com rewards nights and I was stoked.

The next day at work started normally, I taught a few periods and then got a message from Justin during my plan time. The dog had jumped off the deck chasing a squirrel and seemed to maybe have hurt her foot. She’ll no doubt shake it off, I replied, maybe just keep an eye on it. By the next period he was sending me pictures. Her foot was swollen and looked odd. That doesn’t look good, I said. She can’t put her weight on it, he said.

By lunch they were at the emergency vet and I was cancelling the dog sitter.

It turns out our dog had dislocated her wrist, and it needed to be reset. A few hours and a nontrivial vet bill later, Justin called me to tell me he was headed home with her. By that time I had gotten home and said I would wait for him there.

The next phone call could only happen with our dog. Enroute home, she had exploded. It’s so bad, he said. Shit had torrented out of her ass and ricocheted all over his car. Days later when he was still cleaning the car out he would report that he had found it on the ceiling, in the seats and somehow in the back luggage compartment of his hatchback.

I don’t know why these things happen to us. Karma might be smiling on Taylor Swift, but she is not a fan of us apparently. Whatever injustices we have committed, we are sorry.

Back in the present I took the poop encrusted dog upstairs and bathed her while my husband tried to begin the cleanup process with his car, no doubt questioning all his life choices.

Bathing a dog with a cast on is not easy. First I had to wrap her leg in plastic, then I had to coax my somewhat stoned dog into the tub, which was extremely slippery for her. Then once she was clean, I then had to spot clean her cast. I didn’t see a better option: I wasn’t supposed to get it wet but I also couldn’t take it off.

Anyway, so much for our weekend away. In fact for the next two weeks we couldn’t both leave the house ever, because our wounded pet went crazy if we left her. She was on pain medication and not quite herself anyway, but we also couldn’t put her in her crate because of her cone she wore all the time.

Now we’re a month on and while we have managed to escape house arrest for brief outings, we are very excited about the day when our dog becomes her version of normal again. It’s potentially possible her cast will finally be done with in 4 days. I think we’re both counting down the days because no matter how much work a normal dog is, Stampy Stomps, as I’ve come to call her, is nothing if not a diva.

She swings from wanting to play and thereby knocking over everything we own with her cone, to being sad and gloomy. While understandable since she hasn’t been on a walk or even trotted around the yard in a month, it is weird to live with a depressed dog. Hopefully soon we’ll be back to normal but for now…

Pray for us.