Just as I was about to get into the shower this morning, Kobe crept into the bathroom and collapsed on the bathroom rug in a trembling heap. He is normally a stoic, sweet, occasionally playful dog, so to see him trembling was largely disturbing.
My maternal instincts kicked in immediately.
I turned off the shower, closed the bathroom doors to keep pushy Aisha out, pulled Kobe into my lap, and held him close. To calm him down and make him happy again, I rubbed his ears and fluffed his fur while cooing that he was such a good dog. I wasn’t sure if he was feeling neglected or abused by Aisha, or if she had somehow hurt him in the process of biting his little ears or yanking his little tail, but I hated seeing Kobe so obviously miserable.
After about ten minutes, he was no longer shaking and his tail was no longer floppy and sad-looking. I gingerly opened the bathroom door and supervised his reunion with Aisha to make certain that she did not continue to terrorize him. Kobe seemed okay, but he made a beeline for the front door and plopped down under the doorknob. Still aglow with motherly love, I leashed him up and took him outside.
He peed for over a minute. A minute does not sound like a long time, but Kobe is not a large dog, and a minute’s worth of pee is a shocking amount. When he finished, we started back up the stairs, but he turned around halfway through the ascent and dragged me back out to the grass, where he peed for another forty-five seconds. And then it occurred to me.
I had just spent ten minutes of my life tending to someone whose only problem was a desperate need to use the bathroom.