Rough winds do shake…darling Eli

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Today, at least, there is some good news. But it can be difficult to look out at the world these days. It’s good to remember that we are not the only human beings in history who have lived through trying times, and that adversity does not require us to live in abject misery. It’s essential to remind ourselves of the good things in the world. Come and hang out with me, the dogs, and this stalwart little community of good people. If you can’t afford a paid subscription, you can still read and comment.

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Be of good cheer.

JFR

***

The wind is genuinely howling. We’ve had pouring rain and thunderstorms all morning. Now, it seems, the rain is changing into something harder. Could be ice. Could be snow. Hard to tell from where I sit in the bedroom so I can be close to Eli, who is hiding from the storm by lying in the master bathtub. He likes to know one of us is nearby.

I had planned to make good use of the bad weather to have a fire in the library, my usual morning haunt. From there, I can look down into the woods and observe the goings-on, and as my readers have already grasped, I cherish these last cold mornings when I can have the coziness of a fire. This morning, however, after a late night and feeling just a few effects from last night’s champagne, I settled in with my coffee, only to hear my generally quiet husband bellowing at Eli from his basement office. Sighing, I bestirred myself to go and help. A television appearance was imminent.

My husband’s office, while essentially pleasant in theory, is a wild tangle of cords for lighting, mics, cameras, and the various paraphernalia of his work. Eli is normally permitted to lie under the desk, but in this case, perhaps blocked by my husband’s presence, he had chosen to try to bury himself in an adjacent corner amidst the aforementioned cords, lighting tripods, and various other delicate electronic things.

When I got downstairs, my husband was holding Eli by the collar, hoping to prevent his becoming further embedded in his chosen spot. Eli’s paws were tangled in wires, he had knocked a photo from the wall, and he was far too big to fit into the tiny space he had chosen. Two minutes to air time.

I have had tussles with Eli before, usually trying to get him out of the car to go to the vet. I have never allowed him to win, but sometimes at physical cost to myself. I am not a big person, and he is a big dog. He is also a stubborn dog, who knows what he wants. And he is afraid of so many things.

Simply pulling on him was not going to help. It would mean pulling out the connections for half a dozen electronic things, all of which were necessary for the television appearance. So, while my husband held onto him, I urgently disentangled Eli’s paws, pulled the non-essential things out of the corner, and tried to interest Eli in leaving. By now, stubbornly pulling back, he had broken the glass of the fallen photograph, and was in danger of cutting himself.

Finally he was untangled, and we had gotten the broken glass away—as much as possible—and I began tugging on him with all my strength, while my husband steadied the tripods. He. Would. Not. Go. So, in desperation, and just to add to the general chaos, we suggested that perhaps we might all go for a walk. Auggie’s immediate response was joyous and hysterical barking, and Eli began to budge, but only slightly. When my husband began to move toward the door, Eli followed.

I didn’t exactly lean back against the closed basement door with relief, because my next challenge—now that my husband was on the air—was to get the dogs outside into the rain. Auggie charged out with joy. Eli literally skidded to a halt before the kitchen door. There was rain. And wind. And this dog who spends practically the entire summer contentedly paddling in the lake will not tolerate water falling on his head. Auggie came back in, and I tried to give everyone treats. Eli was not interested in treats.

Another sound of thunder sent Eli to the powder room to try to hide behind the toilet. He is too big to hide behind the toilet. He can’t even get his head back there. He knocked over the wastebasket, and pushed himself against the wall as best he could. I returned briefly to my cold coffee a few steps away. But soon I heard scratching, and then thumps as Eli began to fling himself on the basement door to get back to his safe space. This would not do. The sound would be picked up by the microphones. He then went to the dining room where an antique mirror is on the floor waiting for the right hardware to be rehung. Imagining the results if he tried to hide behind it, I suggested the master bath, a place where he has found comfort before.

It is 11:30 now, the morning television appearance is over, and Eli is still there, lying in the bathtub. The library fire has died, and my own plans have been somewhat altered, but sooner or later, I do need to get clean and get dressed. Guess I’ll have to move the plants out of the shower. And get the paw prints out of the tub.

***

And now for your pertinent dog photo:

Hours later, he’s still there, but now he’s sound asleep.