CHURNING, CHURNING, Part 2: Scampi is me, projected.

I wonder how many people are undergoing the same kind of “massive transformation” that for me personally, is experienced by slogging/churning my way through continuous, detailed difficulties “caused by” my excitable, extremely energetic dog Scampi’s bum leg (ACL problem), and my decision to hopefully (and so far, mainly unsuccessfully) calm him down for the four to six weeks it will take for the ACL to heal, without surgery.

(If expensive surgery is required, then convalescence will involve the same protocols for an even longer period of time.)

All sorts of sudden crises with him that demand to be addressed, at times minute by minute, or hour by hour, or . . .

Last night, for example. I was awakened at 1:30 AM by Scampi, in his crate set in my bedroom, turning round and round, rolling, scratching, obviously very disturbed. Not sure how long it had been going on, I was hoping he would calm down; he did not. Finally, a skreech from him and I bounded out of bed, to let him out and take him outside. Does he just need to pee? I hoped. He did pee, but then went right to nearby lawn, in a seeming panic to not just nose around in grass, but consume it, as much as possible.

I took him back inside. Then he was desperate to go into backyard. So we did that, with me sitting on the porch steps watching him nose around the grass, to find the best blades, over and over again. Finally I went and stood above him, staying with him while he searched for the best grass to eat. At this point I realized: he must be having some kind of digestive problem. Serious, given how he had been frantically itching while turning round and round in his crate. He had obviously been unable to get comfortable on his very cushy pillow.

A pillow which, BTW, Tiger kitty decided to colonize early this morning (see above). I wondered when that would happen!

 

Okay. Back to the middle of the night.

After the panicked grass eating, I figured we needed to go back inside, and decide what’s next. I decided if this frantic behavior continued, we would go see our new vet in the afternoon (they don’t open until noon).

I then gave him another gabapentin pill, since at least eight hours had gone by since the last one, hoping it would do what it’s meant to do, quell his pain a bit, and calm him down.

After holding him for awhile, and soothing him, I put him back in his crate, hoping he would remain calm. After just few minutes of fussing, he did. I presume he fell asleep.

That entire ordeal lasted about two hours.

In the early morning, I opened his crate to let Scampi out, then dragged it back into the living room. Oops! there I found a four-inch long, round, grassy, mucusy discharge on the edge of his cushy pillow. I assume it came out of his mouth. (Didn’t smell like poop.)

Oh and BTW: I did take him on one of the two small daily walks allowed, and he did poop, normally. So that’s good!

 

These details are but a tiny microscopic view into the ongoing extreme concentration that the two of us are dealing with, both day and night.

So here we are. I think about what we are going through, and then I remember my son Colin Cudmore! (See caringbridge.org: Colin Cudmore Healing). And I tune into what (who knows how many?) BILLIONS of embodied souls are dealing with continuously: personal bodily difficulties, not to mention abuse, poverty, addiction, isolation, unprocessed childhood trauma, on and on and on.

(And all this I ponder, on the day before both Mercury and Venus go direct . . .)

It’s these kind of extended ordeals that I apparently need to counter my natural, go-for-broke, fiery tendency (buttressed now, by the fact that at near-84 years old, I’m still fit and active) on all levels. And yeah, let’s admit my egocentric pride at being fit and active into the mix here: KARMA.

Scampi is me, projected.

Thank you, Scampi.