OTHER WRITING

The Puppy and the Pandemic

Here we are: Robert and me and our puppy, Asher. Sheltering in place in our large, white living room with its high ceilings and three bay windows. In the San Francisco Victorian we bought over 20 years ago. It is like being in a waiting room. We wonder when we will be called back out into the world as we knew it only weeks ago.

The sun shines through the windows which look out into our small, but lush backyard. A palm tree stands in the middle of the “lawn” made of drought resistant gravel. An herb garden, a lemon tree, a small apple tree and a variety of flowering plants meander alongside the brick path which surrounds the towering palm. I have always felt lucky to have such a respite here in the middle of the city. I am particularly glad now. 

From inside we can hear the neighbors upstairs in their waiting room. Periodically there is a thud from above. And other noises…are they baking a cake with their yellow Kitchen Aid mixer? Perhaps they are vacuuming or doing an online session with their personal trainer? Maybe just walking around with heavy footsteps on their pristine floors?

I try not to feel inadequate if I don’t exercise or make a fabulous meal.  I struggle to divide my time among feelings of gratitude, anger and grief. I am caught between wishing things were different and staying in the moment. Luckily there is our new puppy whose very presence demands that I stay focused on the now. He has laid claim to my heart and to many corners of our waiting room.

There was little time to prepare for the puppy or the pandemic. 

Thursday, February 6. Robert didn’t have clients in the early afternoon, so he offered to check the adoption options at the San Francisco SPCA. Just after I finished my dance class, he sent me a text: Come, there are puppies! 

There were six up for adoption that day. One of three in the first room was a female, part shepherd named Rory. In room number two, there was a lab mix named Presley who was romping with his two sisters, Parker and Posy. The night before we had seen his tri- colored face on the adoption website, but I assumed he was out of the running because Robert was committed to adopting another female. 

We took turns holding the warm, soft puppies who squirmed in our laps as they licked our faces and simultaneously tried to wriggle away. The young volunteer granted us extra time to do some quick research as we were initially smitten with both pups. Rory the shepherd might be harder to train, or fiercely loyal to only one of us. What if Presley wasn’t as sweet as our beloved female, Cinnamon, who had died six months earlier? Could Robert live with another penis? And unfortunately, we didn’t know anything about either set of parents. 

I told Robert that he could decide. I didn’t mind another penis, and I was emotionally drained from the quest to find a puppy. I suggested we could even take a hiatus from the search.

It turned out that Presley’s mother, Ariana, had just been adopted by a staff member at the shelter. A good sign, I thought. We were able to see a picture, and she was definitely some part yellow Labrador Retriever. Labs are kind and good-natured. They are very popular family dogs and are reputed to take most things in stride. This trait would turn out to be very useful during the pandemic. We said, “yes” and went off to Pet Food Express to claim our 20% discount on a cart full of puppy essentials.

We had already decided to rename Presley. We weren’t particularly Elvis fans, and wanted to call him something that meant “love” or “peace” or “gift.” We perused the Italian options and then looked over the Hebrew choices. Asher means “happy” and seemed to fit the mound of fur who had already captured our hearts.

I was immediately absorbed with Asher. I knew there was some virus in China that was creating chaos as daily life there was upended. People were getting sick and some were dying. It seemed to be spreading. But much of the news was about the fall presidential election and the Democratic roster of candidates.

A college friend visited for a few days from New York as the virus continued spreading and began to rear its ugly head closer to home. She instructed me about the details of hand washing even as we ventured out to the SF MOMA. The streets were getting quieter and there were more parking spaces. A group of friends decided to gather at my house rather than at a restaurant. Disappointment and confusion began to seep in. I was still holding worry at bay.

During the first 16 weeks of a puppy’s life, socialization is key. Asher weighed just eight pounds when we brought him home so I was able to carry him in a puppy sling, which would have been equally useful for holding a baby, if anyone had cared to loan me one. Our puppy bible instructed that Asher should meet 100 different people within the first month of our having brought him home. We wandered through a crowded Whole Foods and held court at an outdoor café a few blocks from home. He was charming and patient, licking the sticky fingers of children and impressing everyone with his excellent puppy manners. He was well on his way to meeting the socialization quota when the Covid-19 outbreak was confirmed to be a pandemic. Hand sanitizer was now becoming di rigueur and harder and harder to find. There was a crazy rush on toilet paper, and Silicon Valley was being told to work from home.

Monday, March 16. Beginning the next day, the residents of seven Bay Area counties were being ordered to shelter-in-place. The order coincided with St. Patrick’s Day which would now be less about green crepe paper, warm beer and stringy corn beef. It was eerie and shocking. Luckily the cheese shop and our favorite corner market were somewhat less busy than the local Whole Foods.  Their ice cream supply was so plentiful that one couple was seen purchasing 2 pints of chocolate fudge, some butterscotch ripple and another few cartons of mint chip. I surmised they were getting a head start on feeding their anxiety. 

My aversion to meal planning gave way to a yet untapped corner of my brain. I vowed to dedicate myself to figuring out how we could eat well without daily excursions to buy that one ingredient without which I couldn’t make some obscure Indian dish that was recommended in the Wednesday food section of the New York Times. 

Just three days earlier Asher finished his round of required vaccines and was cleared to put his four paws on city sidewalks. We had been spending all of our time indoors or lingering on the front porch which was also his personal, puppy bathroom. Everyone was looking forward to a fly free front porch! Along with the orders to stay put, scores of “non-essential” businesses had to close. Asher’s puppy day care, which we all loved for the socialization it provided him and the space it gave us to attend to other than puppy business, was now closed. 

Dog walking, however, was given the green light. People were encouraged to spend time outdoors, and what better impetus than a dog who needs a walk. The number of canines on leash grew exponentially as more and more people were ordered to work from home. Everyone, it seemed, wanted a soft, warm companion to take the edge off as they navigated the new reality. Dogs were being adopted or fostered in record numbers. 

As we meandered through our neighborhood, Asher held his gaze on every dog he saw, be it across the street or halfway down the block. When a dog and its humans got closer, Asher stretched his front legs out in front and leaned down on his elbows as his chest lay on the ground. 

This play bow is a dog’s way of inviting another dog, animal, or human companion to play.  This posture lets the other dog know his intentions are friendly. 

Asher was motionless, transfixed. He was eager to play with any dog and sidle up to any adult. Puppies, like babies, are irresistible. While new mothers are understandably reluctant to let random strangers fawn over their tiny offspring, puppy parents understand that their furry pooches are public property as soon as their soft, virgin paws touch the neighborhood sidewalk. 

“Don’t let anyone pet him!” warned our vet. She didn’t tend towards paranoia, so I trusted her. 

As we ambled through our neighborhood, I would smile and say, “We aren’t letting anyone pet him.” I am sure Asher was disappointed, and I couldn’t allow myself to think he might feel rejected.

“Sheltering in place,” came with its own learning curve. In the beginning there were more questions than answers. Who should wear masks and what kind? Why were the shelves at Whole Foods empty if there wasn’t a food shortage? If everyone practices social distancing and puts at least six feet between themselves and the next warm body, will the restaurants stay open, albeit with a new floor plan? Is my hairdresser essential enough that I can keep my appointment to get my hair colored? 

Over the next few days, some things became clearer as the news got worse. Restaurants that could afford to stay open would do “take out” only. Hairdressers were not essential and the grocery stores would carry their usual inventory once everyone stopped hoarding garlic, toilet paper and oatmeal. The jury was out on masks as more research was needed regarding their usefulness for other than medical workers and hospital personnel.

The virus was spreading as hospitals sought more equipment and the number of cases grew. Not enough Personal Protection Gear or ventilators for the number of patients who needed breathing assistance as their lungs were weakened with pneumonia or Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome. (ARDS) 

Terms like “surge” and “flattening the curve” peppered the news. I struggled to stay current as my mind short circuited with a myriad of details and daily tasks. I had been feeling tired and overloaded since bringing Asher home. My freelance schedule meant I was his primary caregiver, and I was relieved when he was ready for twice a week daycare. He could exhaust himself romping with other puppies while I took a dance class or settled in for some writing time. Daily life had just started to develop a rhythm when his daycare was cancelled. My goal of balancing puppy parenting with the rest of my life evaporated. Overnight everything changed. 

As some doors closed, particularly the one to my dance studio, others opened. Particularly the one marked, “Zoom.” I now realized that my rudimentary knowledge of, interest in, and use of social media was about to be challenged. 

First things first however. Would Robert and I be stuck with only each other and our beloved puppy? Could we see our two adult sons who lived elsewhere? How about those puppy classes we signed up for or the theater tickets we had? Would we still be going to my niece’s June wedding in Chicago? Would there even be a wedding? What about the April writer’s conference I had paid for? 

Asher runs around and around our kitchen island, until he splays himself across the floor. He flings his small, compact body into space and I momentarily wonder if he will get a cramp. I didn't know we would be waiting so long. The population of the waiting room never changes. It is always just the three of us. 

My son is in Los Angeles and my stepson is in Berkeley. It is challenging for me to lay claim to this waiting room as one son would like to visit. But I need it for my safe space, at least for now. But for how long? 

I take dance classes on line and Pilates from my trainer's living room. We have Zoom dinner parties and family gatherings and everyone seems to talk at once. The voices overlap and I can't tell if I am interrupting. But it is a technical lag, says my husband who prefers Zoom as he is the introvert. He likes that we can have a dinner party and no one actually comes to the house. But I miss cooking and interacting and touching. I migrate between the different corners of our waiting room. The living room corner and the kitchen corner and the bathroom corner. I am underwhelmed by what technology offers but also, oddly, grateful for the opportunities it now provides. 

Time doesn't mean so much these days. I forget what day it is. I am not sure what to look forward to. I miss my son so very much. He calls often and I know he is safe. Blessings. It is hard to wait, to be waiting, and to not know how long life will keep us waiting. 

I hear another thud, no wait, it is the thud of silence. I am glad the virus has laid claim to more silence and less traffic. But I would welcome both back if only the virus would go away...forever. 

I hope not to falter in my use of my mask and hand sanitizer and washing my produce and on and on. I vow to lay claim to my health as I pray for the health of those in nursing homes and NYC and all over the world.  I cry and worry and then I take a deep breath and feel that my lungs are clear and healthy. 

I emerge from my sadness to look out the window and see in the backyard that the iris bulbs are flowering and the herb garden is thriving. I sit on the floor and Asher curls up next to me. I offer him a rawhide bone and he chews contentedly. And for a moment it is not so bad to be in this waiting room. To be waiting and waiting.