Sue loves a project
Sue and her latest project: Ruby, the high-maintenance dog.
Sue is one of those rare and special people who can see through the fog and the clutter. She has the power to perceive each and every creature - not just in its current state - but at the pinnacle of its potential.
Sue takes a stance of active engagement and is determined to bring out the best. I chalk it up to love – you simply can’t pay attention to all the details if you’re ambivalent…
Take me, for example. Sue wants me to stay healthy as I age – and I do appreciate her concern, because frankly, without her efforts, I’d be long gone.
My diet and exercise regimen (or lack thereof) are a topic of daily review. Sue is firm that (even brisk) runs to the beer fridge (no matter how frequent) do not constitute a workout.
Cured meats are officially contraband in this household. But, between us, I know this guy – I call him my pepperoni-pusher (one taste of the rosette de Lyon and you’re hooked for life) – I keep a hidden stash in the glove compartment.
Sue provides weekly variance reports on my fruit/veggie consumption. Through the whirling howl of the blender, she laments my salty/fatty indiscretions and inserts incompatible ingredients: melon skins, kale, bananas, carrots, and some thickening agent to trigger my gag reflex.
Sue’s current attempt to improve my outlook is a morning Sippy-cup of apple juice accompanied by vitamin D, omega 3, and green tea capsules.
But I digress – while I represent a long-standing initiative, Sue’s latest project is Ruby, the high-maintenance dog.
Ruby is the Duck-Billed Platypus of dogs: an absurd combination of Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever, Basset Hound, and Corgi.
Hailing from the Orillia SPCA, Ruby is of unknown age and origin – and between her acute allergies, incessant shedding, and periodic anti-social behaviour – she’s what one might call a handful.
Ruby was morbidly obese upon her arrival – never socialized – and knew not what to do with a ball or doggie toy of any variety. She is the kind of dog that only a mother could love – and this, Sue does without limitations.
Ruby’s coat is thick and multi-layered – ideal for retrieving waterfowl in frigid northern waters – but her torso is broad and her stunted Corgi legs make swimming an absolute impossibility.
A normal dog barks when excited – but poor Ruby emits an unnatural, irritating scream. She is an assemblage of puzzle pieces that don’t quite fit – but rather appear forced together by the hands of a clumsy, rushed Creator.
Had Dr. Frankenstein himself pieced her together – she could not be more discordant.
When Ruby was highjacked by a couple of angry Shepherds at the farm – against better judgement and any logic - Sue threw herself upon the ground to protect her misfit hound.
And the results don’t lie: Over time, Sue has worked to manage Ruby’s myriad health issues, helped her drop 15 pounds, and effected a sharp reduction in her most embarrassing, aggressive outbursts.
Oh Ruby, don’t take your love to town. (Note: I’m the one in the back seat.)
The patience of Mother Theresa, however, would be tested by Ruby’s latest malaise. First discovered by Sue when she went to move the dog bed – Ruby had been seeping while she was sleeping.
As Sue cleaned up, she expressed no frustration and was a veritable songbird of sympathy for the sorry mutt while I was dispatched to purchase doggie diapers – the only differences with the human variety being a hole for the tail and inflated cost per unit.
Driving home, I pondered the question if Sue will be as understanding when the inevitable eventually comes to pass and I, too, rise from the chesterfield with a sad, soaking realization. (I somehow doubt I will be treated to the same judgement-free compassion.)
Sue called the vet’s office (she’s on speed dial, don’t ya know) and my instructions were laid out. I was to drop off a Ruby urine sample after our morning constitutional.
During our walk around the farm, Ruby’s predictable rhythm is to make a deposit every 30 steps. She crouches – at most one inch from the ground - and dribbles.
This particular morning, I followed her, hunched over and plastic cup in hand waiting for the stop. Much to my chagrin, Ruby seemed dehydrated. What should have taken mere seconds was more than 30 minutes without a squat.
I became a muttering Quasimodo pursuing a bone-dry dog. To complete the humiliation, neighbours who were happily approaching from a distance – suddenly stopped and altered their course upon witnessing me cursing and crawling behind Ruby with outstretched arm.
When she finally did crouch, I dove forward and awkwardly shoved the cup between her hind legs. Relieved (both of us), I snapped the lid on the cup as if preserving crucial evidence at a crime scene. Ruby turned, tilted her head and gave me a stunned look that clearly indicated my actions represented a breach of trust.
We cut short the walk. I placed the sample cup on the counter – (beside the vitamin D, omega 3, and green tea capsules) and took a bio-break of my own.
Preparing for the trip to the vet’s office, I returned to the kitchen to fetch the sample and gazed upon the collection of pills and two cups with lids holding contents of identical colour.
Our vet was perplexed by the test results, suggesting Ruby cut back her consumption of acidic fruit, and prescribed yet another expensive medication as part of her daily cocktail.
On the way home, I looked at Ruby and it dawned on me: Each of us is a line item on Sue’s master project plan – and far better for it.
“You know, we both won the jackpot,” I told her.
She raised an eyebrow and looked out the passenger window.
On the way home, I looked at Ruby and it dawned on me: Each of us is a line item on Sue’s master project plan – and far better for it.
I reached over and opened the glove compartment. Ruby and I shared some secret contraband before pulling in the driveway.
“Don’t tell Sue,” I said.
Trust restored.
- 30 -
