Sophie got the zoomies

 

My kitchen floor after Sophie's zoomies

Sophie and I pretty much have a morning routine. If she wakes too much before seven, I placate with a snippet of cheese and tell her to go back to sleep. Inevitably, she wakes me again right at seven. I feed her and let her out, and by the time I’ve gone to the bathroom myself, she is back in, waiting for another piece of cheese. Then we both goi back to sleep. This morning, that all went haywire. She did not come back in. I looked out, and she was racing along one side of the yard at top speed—and top speed for Sophie is darn fast. It’s the Australian shepherd in her.

My calls of “Cheese” went unheeded. She’d run from one end to the other and then freeze, as though she thought she was a hunting dog on point. Only her tail would move, and it would wag vigorously. I went outside with the piece of cheese. Nothing. So, I went outside with the leash, having sunk so low that I was willing to pretend she was going somewhere. She ignored me. Since it was Sunday morning and my neighbors—and my family—were probably trying to sleep, I was grateful she didn’t bark much. When she did, it was high-pitched, almost a squeak—from excitement.

Finally I did what goes against my every principle: I left the door ajar and went back to bed. But I didn’t sleep. Every fifteen minutes or so, I got up to check on her. She was still running. Finally a little after nine I got up and started on my day. To get her in for her morning shot, I had to call Christian—of course she came to him right away. He gave her a shot, and I confined her to the cottage.

I had warned Christian not to leave water in her dish, but he thought she’d already splashed a bit and that was the end of it. Little did he know. She was mad at me, especially when barking to tell me she wanted to go out had no effect. She banged the food dishes around a bit and then, in her anger, flipped the water bowl and walked in it. You see above a picture of the results. I triple-mopped the floor, and it still needs to be done professionally.

One advantage—during all those fifteen-minute dozes, I did really good work in my head. Noted the next scene in the novel-in-progress and came up with a plan—and titles—for the first four chapters of pieces of my cottage memoir. When I finally got to my computer, I made notes of all that had been racing through my brain.

Apparently, however, Soph was not through with the zoomies—or at least the squirrels. I let her out a bit after noon, and she went right back to running and barking. Veterinary experts tell us the zoomies are natural to all dogs and result from pent-up energy. Zoomies are not bad for dogs—in fact, they look like they’re having a barrel of fun when they’re running. But there is always the danger that running so fast they will injure themselves. Once, before we got rid of deconstructed granite in some flower beds, Soph tore the pads on her paws badly and was off her feet for several days while we treated with salves and ointments. And let’s be realistic—she is twelve years old and has a chronic condition and six months ago was at death’s door. I worried a lot about her this morning.

The squirrels are to blame, of course. They know exactly what they are doing when they tease her, and she falls for it every time. What they say about dogs having the thought processes of a two-year-old is so true!

Tonight we had happy hour with the neighbors directly behind us. Two or three years ago, they asked me to sign an easement waiver or whatever so they could build a cabana/guest house closer to the property line. My cottage also sits too close to the line, but it was obviously built before zoning restrictions. They are good neighbors, nice people (with sons about Jacob’s age), and I was glad to do it. They and their architect—who also designed the renovation of my cottage—were most considerate of my privacy. The new structure directly blocks the view from my bathroom window, but a fence covered in honeysuckle hides their pool equipment and, besides, who spends a lot of time staring out the bathroom window? Windows on my side of their cabana are for ventilation only and are up high—all they see is trees, which is pleasant for them and keeps my bathroom private.

So tonight we saw the finished project, and it is classy. The cabana matches the house and faces the new pool. The main, two-story house has a new screened-in porch on the first level and an open porch above which must be off their master bedroom. They’ve created a lovely oasis, and I was delighted to see it. Having grown up with a scrrened-in porch in Chicago, I am more than a bit jealous.

A nice end to an off day. I may have to take a nap before I go to bed. Sophie is now calm and angelic, and occasionally I think the look in her eyes says, “Will you forgive me?” Here comes a busy week. I’m looking forward to it. You?