Answering the small questions...

I realized I never really explained what happened... that Bandit was in a fully fenced-in yard, and he got out, and we found him in the road, right after he'd been hit. That a stranger stopped the cars during rush hour so no one else would hit him.

I didn't mention it because once it had happened, it felt like it didn't matter. There was no going back. There was no "maybe I should have realized my very clever 10 inch dog could jump a 5 foot fence?" or "I wish it hadn't been rush hour." Or "who was that jerk who hit him anyway?" None of that. I haven't even had a minute of those thoughts. Because once it happened, this was our new reality. Period.

(Besides... who *hasn't* seen Bandit escape into a road at some point? This time it was just actually not due to negligence of any kind).

The only thing I said was "I can't believe this happened this year. You've got to be kidding me. You can't make this shit up."

100% of my energy went to taking whatever the next step was. Take Bandit to ER. Make surgery decisions. Find temporary housing. Buy diapers, and wipes and a kennel and a bed and, and, and, and....

The waiting of the first few days felt like someone put me on a treadmill and told me to keep walking at a nice, easy pace. It felt fine at first. Nice, easy pace. I could do that. Until I realized the treadmill wasn't stopping for days and days. I didn't know when it would stop. It took me a while to realize I'd have to sleep standing up. I'd have to find a way to eat and shower and not fall off. I couldn't get off. The entire world was this little tiny treadmill of waiting. When Bandit got out of the hospital, I was so exhausted from waiting, I felt like I'd actually run 100 miles that week.

Which was unfortunate, because then I became a 24/7 nurse.

How did "he'll have to be in a cage for 6 weeks and diapers at first" become "He'll need medications every 2 hours, diaper changes at least as often, water brought to him all the time, plus physical therapy for an hour a day, four trips outside a day, and whatever food he'll eat" with no time off for sleep? (And no promises that the routine will really ever get better...)

The vet hospital has a rotating staff of people who get time off. They go home. They sleep. And did I mention they shower? There is a team. An entire team of people. Sure, they have multiple animals. But none of them had to give him meds at 6pm, 8pm, 10pm, midnight, 3am, 7am. None of them had to syringe water in his mouth every hour or so throughout the night because he wouldn't drink more than a few milliliters at a time. In the hospital there was an IV for that! But once he got out... while we saved a solid $400 a day... I was all he had. He became everything in a completely new way to me.

I was so relieved when he finally pooed for the first time, because we didn't even know for sure that he could anymore. And then I realized that having an incontinent dog was like having an unstoppable fro-yo pump in a diaper. It's nothing like a baby. And a manure fro-yo pump, incidentally, is an incredibly bad mix with adjacent 6 inch incisions. Have you tried cleaning poop out of the staples on your dog's wounded back-end (every 2 hours)?

Just in case you're wondering, it's kind of impossible.

And just in case you're wondering, baby wipes are not made for completely hairy butts.

And just in case you're wondering, he actually cries when his diaper is dirty. Because he knows.

So, I feel a little bit like the Virgin Mary here. Somehow I got handed a baby that I swear I did nothing to create. Except perhaps my child seems a little less impressive to the rest of the world than hers did. (Judging by the comments and rolled eyes I get when people see me walking my dog in a stroller...)

But last night I looked at him, lying there in his diaper, with his staples poking out, and his collar on so he doesn't lick himself and I said "You know what bud? This is all pretty much the same as before. We used to be mostly inseparable, and now we're completely inseparable. I used to pretend you were a baby, and now you actually are one. And cuddling still ranks pretty high on your list of important things to do, which it turns out you can do, no matter how much you wet yourself or can't walk around. So it's pretty much the same. Which is kind of nice."

Because my life before with Bandit was pretty great.

He still smiles about the same things. He still wants to cuddle in bed in whatever position is the most uncomfortable and inconvenient for me. And he's completely tolerant of whatever comes his way. Diapers? Sure! Pee pads? He already scooches around while I lay them down so they lie flat. Unable to walk? No big deal: that's what a stroller is for. We have new routines now.

His quality of life it turns out is not all that different. Just a few days out of surgery, and Bandit is Bandit in all of the most essential ways. Perhaps he's a little needier. Perhaps he's a little messier. But all of this was a giant act of love and faith from the beginning. And while I hope we someday soon get to a point where we can both sleep eight hours straight.... (Or even six? Four?) it's pretty hard to have any real complaints.

I am not at the Christine Center. I am not building my much-fantasized-about cabin in the woods. I don't even have a stable place to live within a thousand miles.

I have shied away from the "everything happens for a reason" trope since November. But, I can't say for certain that this wasn't exactly what I've needed. I still don't know the answers to some of the big questions in my life. But I can answer some of the smaller ones. On any given day, in any given hour, I am no more than two hours away from a diaper change, a medication dispensing battle, a trip outside to sit on the grass, a stroller walk. I no longer have gaps of time where I wonder what I'll be doing. It might be a question of where I'm doing it, or how tired I am, but each moment has a ready-made purpose.

I take care of him.

And if there is spare time, I eat lunch, I shower, I check my work email. But for a little while at least, really: I just take care of him. There is nothing flashy or important about it. That is my purpose.


What a thing! A purpose?

And such a seemingly small one.

He is not a super hero, or a rock star. Tail-less, I think it's safe to say he doesn't even have a modeling career ahead of him anymore. He's just a dog. Just a random dog I somehow ended up with four years ago, practically by accident. And now I have set aside my plans, my expectations, even my hygiene at times...

But considering what each of us was going through before this happened...I'm not sure there was any better medicine for either of us.

And we needed some strong medicine.

So maybe this all didn't happen for a reason. I don't know.

But even so, it has helped me to find one.

And maybe... even just having the small questions answered can be enough?

Namaste.