Sophie’s story part II

Sophie, 12 weeks old
The day we brought her home.

Tonight, the cottage is quiet and a bit lonely. Sophie is spending the night in the hospital. She had taken lately, with the warmer weather, to lying on the patio until late at night when I enticed her inside with a bit of cheese so I could go to bed. During the evening, she’d come in from time to time to get a drink of water and, I hope, to see that I was where she thought I ought to be, but it was not as though we spent the evening chatting. Still, I miss knowing she out there, and I may even miss her demand for breakfast at seven in the morning.

She is in a specialty clinic, not your neighborhood vet (think big dollars), but the doctor who saved her life is one of my favorite people. She needs his spot-on knowledge. He called tonight to say that she’s still pretty rough. This morning he reported that her diabetes was out of control, her blood sugar ridiculously high, and she had opened the old wound (once a bed sore) on her front elbow. (I’d caught her licking that now and again but she stopped when I told her to.) Tonight he says the sugar numbers are much better, so I will wait for a morning report.

I like to say this all happened so fast—the first clear sign was yesterday morning when she didn’t eat her breakfast. But in retrospect, I know there were small signs—another time I’ll be more alert to them. She, who is always ravenous, turned down her dry kibble though she kept eating the canned food. And if I poured broth over the kibble, she’d eat it. But that quit yesterday. We caught her chewing nonedible things. And both last night and this morning she disappeared into the far reaches of the back yard where I cannot see her and cannot follow with my walker. I’ve had experience before with a dog who went off to die, so that freaked me out. In fact yesterday in the wee morning hours I called Christian but just then she poked her head around into the door, and I hit disconnect quickly. But last night and this morning Jordan and Christian had to go get her and carry her back to the cottage.

So tonight I am feeling sorry for myself. Jordan and Christian have gone to a friend’s b’day dinner at Don Artemio’s, the relatively new, upscale restaurant featuring the food of northeastern Mexico—think Saltillo and San Miguel, also think nopales, cabrito, tacos de Lengua (tongue tacos and my favorite on the menu). Don Artemio’s was a finalist for the best new restaurant in the James Beard Awards for 2023. I suggested jokingly Jordan order the cabrito, because that’s what I want the next time I dine there. I knew she’d frown, and I bet she orders a steak because that’s what she likes and what she is comfortable with. Me? I want to try new things, as long as they are not too spicy.

But more than feeling sorry for myself, I am feeling sorry for Sophie. I know she thinks we’ve abandoned her. She hates the clinic, and we all know when you feel bad, you want to be home, not in some sterile place. Fingers crossed, prayers said that she can come home tomorrow.

Tonight Mary came for happy hour. She is to do a two-part cooking class on Helen Corbitt for the Silver Frogs (non-credit, community classes from TCU for an older audience, a truly vital program.) Mary cooks from her kitchen via a Zoom-like arrangement, and for the Corbitt program she plans to have me chime in with my research into Corbitt’s career. So she showed us the treasures she’d bought for the demonstration—a Hollandaise sauce mix, chutney, flower pots for the cakes Corbitt made for LadyBird, etc., and the Power Point presentation she’d put together. I declined to do that because I have no idea about Power Point. It was fun to talk about Corbitt, and I enjoyed the hour. Then Mary and Jordan rushed off and I ate leftover meat loaf and a small green salad.

But I’ve got great cooking plans coming up—only to be told Jordan wants a b’day dinner of tacos Saturday night. I have a recipe for chicken tacos I might try to talk her into, but I am not hopeful.

Pray for Soph, please. I hope tomorrow I can report she’s safely home.