The Dog Universe

After a roughly 20-year hiatus, I decided to revive my tennis career.  I was missing the sport, and the exercise, and the socialness of the game.  I was also, apparently, missing my body from 20 years ago.  Because immediately following my team’s second practice, I had to send my racquet back into hibernation, after going for a forehand and hearing an unmistakable “crack” inside my right shoe.

As luck would have it, this mishap coincided with my family’s upcoming spring break trip to Edisto Island in South Carolina. I certainly couldn’t tell my two kids that the beach was cancelled, and I was getting tired of rolling around my house in an office chair, so I had to get creative.   After a few sketchy searches on the internet, I eventually met up with a man in a McDonald’s parking lot in Woodstock, who rented me a wheelchair from the back of his pick up truck.

Once on the island, my husband had the unenviable daily task of getting me down the long stairs of our house, wheeling me up the bumpy street, pushing me over the unyielding sand walkway, dragging me backwards over the broken oyster shells that lined the beach, and then parking me far enough away from the tide so that I didn’t rust my borrowed chair.

One day, as I entered about the third hour of ennui while watching my kids play in the water, I saw a man come buzzing along the shore on a golf cart. Seated next to him was a cute little dog, clearly enjoying the ride, despite the fact that it had an enormous cone of shame around its head. This unusual, unexpected scene gave me a much-needed chuckle.  Surely, the universe was reaching out to pat me on the head and tell me that I was not alone in my pitiful state – that I had a kindred spirit in this fellow injured soul.

So imagine my pure delight when, a few minutes later, the little cone dog came trotting back down the beach, exploring his domain like an upside down martini glass.  As he drew closer to my family, I could see he was taking an interest in the kids’ activities, and then -- his sights turned to me.  My hopes rose as he approached me without fear, no doubt sensing our common bond.  I spoke to him lovingly, his eyes met mine, and then ever so slowly, without leaving my gaze, he lifted his leg, peed all over me, and then sauntered off.

Turns out, the universe was giving me a pinch, not a love pat.

I really wanted that dog to like me.  I really wanted him to jump up in my lap and let me scratch his tummy and then settle in for a cozy afternoon nap. I wanted him to put his cone head up to mine and give me little dog kisses.  I really wanted us to be soulmates.

Maybe it was because my kids were having a great time without me, and I was feeling lonely and sorry for myself.  Or, maybe I was disappointed that my injury had not earned me some well-deserved good karma.  Regardless, my ego was crushed, because let’s face it, if a cute puppy comes for you, then you have probably hit rock bottom.

Somehow, though, I managed to survive the humiliation and enjoy the rest of the trip, despite the fact that we met another animal during our stay --- one that goes by the name of lice. 

Fast forward to today - all of my bones are currently intact, but I find myself relating back to that “broken Alison.”  My two kids are now teenagers. My daughter is about to graduate high school and move far away.  I officially have begun the stages of empty nest syndrome, because even though my kids are still physically in the house, mentally, my daughter is like that Eagle’s song – “already gone.”  And my son, while just a freshman, has decided that there are some things he definitely no longer wishes to discuss with me.

That’s where my dogs come in.  I have three of them of varying size, age and personality, and I really need them to like me right now.  I really need them to jump up in my lap and let me scratch their tummies and give me dog kisses so we can all settle in for a cozy afternoon nap.  I need the universe to just chill for a minute, and send me a sign that despite the fact that soon I will be once again observing my kids from afar, I am going to be ok.  I need to know that I can pick myself back up, wipe the pee off my leg, and keep on wheelin’.  And once my nest is actually empty, I am probably going to need another dog.

Until next time, keep crowin' - and find a cute puppy to love on!

Thank you to Story Sisters Live for letting me share this "tail" in front of a lovely audience!