My dogs, Wyatt & Janey, have a big water
dish in the kitchen, and a smaller one here in the bedroom. Kibble bowls
in the kitchen & bedroom too, with one extra small bowl in the
office because one or the other will usually wolf down a bowl once he or
she is sure that I'm going to stay at the desk for a bit. My dogs like
to be confident of where I am located before they lower their heads and
devote all their energies and senses to the task of eating dinner or a
midnight snack. This is a kind of
neuroses I guess, and it's surely my fault, so I do my best to ease the
way for them. The bowls stay full and I try not to alter the eating
routine. I'll lean against the counter and watch them eat if that's what
they need me to do. (An aside: if I am leaving the house, and I give
each of them a Milk Bone biscuit, Janey will gobble hers in a panic, but
Wyatt holds his in his mouth, and when I come home, no matter how many
hours later, the first thing he does is eat that biscuit, which he has
usually placed in the center of the sofa...to be eaten upon my return,
when it's safe.) Often, in the wee hours of the night, Janey will awaken
and suddenly jump off my bed (she sleeps with me; Wyatt in his little
bed on the floor, bedroom or living room; he ambles back & forth in
the night). Janey jumps to the floor and a moment later I can her her
lapping at the water dish. This never fails to move me, even when it has
awakened me (as it always does). I'm moved because she TRUSTS that the
water is there and that means she trusts me and the world we've created.
The bowl will be there and it will NOT be empty. And I'm moved because
I'm reminded that she is a sentient being that has been overtaken by
thirst (AWAKENED by it), and like any thinking creature, she has headed
for the nearest watering hole. When she's done, she walks back over to
the side of the bed and sits, staring up into the darkness, waiting,
patiently, for me to do the thing she expects, that she RELIES
UPON---which is that I will roll my body to the side of the bed, lean
way down, often with a soft curse, and gently yank/pull her up by her
harness and onto the bed. It's a smooth, fluid motion, that lift, like a
seasoned skier jumping onto the next passing lift. Janey immediately
sprawls into a heap, mocking me with her ability to fall right back to
sleep, even as I fluff & fold myself back into a semblance of sleepy
time comfort. I am an insomniac, and she does all this to torture me, I
have no doubt, but also to remind me that this house, which my
self-pitying brain often classifies as "lonely and empty", is in fact,
teeming, at all hours, with active minds, beating hearts, and questing
souls. Here on Sanborn Avenue, we're a sleepy bunch, but we're alive,
and we're in this together.
(Chuck Wilson)