Last night I started to think that survival might be a possibility. My fever broke…and returned…repeatedly. I lost count. The congestion started to clear. I was coughing. A lot. I decided to try spending the night in the recliner so that hubby might sleep. Someone needed to.
As always the ever faithful Matilda, the basset was by my side. Sleeping is her best thing. She only does three things well: sleeping, running away during walks to make new best friends and eating.
She does other things.
No. She doesn’t really do anything else. Just the three things.
That’s really all she does unless you count whining and baying at 4:30 every afternoon because she’s ready to go on a walk. I don’t really count it as a separate activity because she only does it so she can go on a walk and run away. It’s an essential component of activity number two. Not a separate activity at all.
Anyway, last night I carried (lugged) her to the recliner and we both kind of fell into place. She’s a pretty hefty chunk of dog. That’s a result of activity number three which includes the sub-component of stealing every possible bit of human food that she can gain access to and she has miraculous skills for a dog of her height and breadth.
Where was I?
Oh yea, she landed in place right beside me. I must have dozed off for a bit because when I woke up I was perched on my side on the arm of the recliner. One leg was thrown over onto the sofa next to the recliner. Matilda the basset was snoring loudly and contentedly on the other 98% of the chair. She also had all of my Very Hungry Caterpillar comforter. Life can be unfair at times. Unless you are Matilda. She seems to have very few problems at all as far as I can tell.
There wasn’t really a reasonable way to get out of the position I was in. If I rolled forward I would end up on the floor. Well, the top half of me would have hit the floor. The brain part, mainly. That seemed a bad idea. I couldn’t get up because I couldn’t get a foot on the floor. I tried rolling back into the chair, but Matilda didn’t wake up enough to move. Or maybe she woke up enough and it just didn’t seem to be her problem.
I’m betting on the latter. That’s probably why I like her so much. She’s very confident about her own self-worth. She just assumes that she’s worthy of love. She doesn’t try to be anything other than what she is. She’s a Basset hound. She doesn’t try to be a normal dog and bother with silly things like fetching a stick or paying any attention at all to you when you call her. She doesn’t try to be a watchdog and guard and protect our home. She does no tricks to try and please you. She is who she is. She sleeps with me every night. She is loyal – as long as no one within her hearing range opens a Cheetos bag. This would include most of the subdivision. Distinguishing the sound of a Cheetos bag must be something only a Basset can do. All chip bags sound pretty much the same to me. Other than Cheetos, I’m pretty much her favorite thing. That’s okay. We all have our price.
We are friends.
We accept each other’s faults.
We like each most of the time.
Sometimes we disagree.
We aren’t mean to each other (on purpose).
Sometimes we screw up (she steals my food and I get mad at her).
We work it out.
I finally wiggled back into my 30% of the chair. She protested…a lot. We worked it out. She kept the blanket.
I couldn’t get to sleep for a while. I started thinking about friendship.
I thought a lot about friendship. The friendships I’ve had. And the ones I haven’t. There were a lot of revelations, realizations, aha moments… It turned out to be a pretty good therapy session. I cried. A lot.
I think I’ll share…
in a couple of days.
For now, let’s start with…
Friends are important.
I’m not really very good at friendship sometimes.
And sometimes I don’t believe that I am deserving of friendship…of love.
This all probably causes a goodly amount of stress.
But, things can change.
I can change.
Life can be better.