30. It’s 2:37 AM–Let’s Go Outside (Ask for Help When You Need It)
One of the most jarring surprises (among many) when we first got Zoey was how vocal she is.
Right from our first car ride as we transported her to her new home, she spent the entire three-hour drive whining, yelping, barking, wailing, yipping, moaning and screeching. Oh, and she climbed out of the “puppy safety box”--aka huge Rubbermaid bin–about 658 times, too.
Chaser, on the other hand, had always been quiet, reserved, demure. Never a wayward bark (except at fluffy, white dogs or FedEx drivers at the door), never an unnecessary yelp (except when surprised by something like a napkin falling to the floor), never an uncalled-for whine (not even when we took ages getting her dinner ready with its multiple meds and remedies).
So it was a quite a shock when, as she got older, Chaser began to express her feelings out loud.
First, she emitted a barely-perceptible groan as she laboriously lowered herself to the ground in order to lie down. As her rear legs continued to weaken, the process became more and more elaborate, so the groaning increased in volume and duration over time.
Sometimes, I’d walk into our bedroom (where she preferred to snooze) during the evening, and I knew I’d caught her right after she hit the ground based on the speed and intensity of her grousing. She might be panting a little, groaning like an old tree, its branches rasping and creaking as they swayed in the wind.
Over time, the groans were accompanied by tiny, razor-sharp whines, bursting in quick succession like the staccato of a metronome. It was then we finally became resigned that the end was near.
But until then, the sounds continued to multiply, sometimes when we least expected them. Like, say, at 2:37 AM.
I think about how much her life changed as she aged. She transformed from an active, uber athletic and agile adult to her superannuated self, hobbling across the room on paws garbled by arthritis, unable to descend the stairs on her own, no longer able to glide through the air chasing a Frisbee™ (though honestly, she tried).
Chaser doing what she loved most.
Unlike people, though, dogs don’t suffer from pride. It’s not unusual for humans–even toddlers– to reject help when offered (”No, I do it myself!!”). And this tendency seems to become even more ingrained as we age.
But Chaser had no qualms requesting assistance. When she woke in the middle of the night with an urge to “do her business” (because that business, it seemed, remained open for longer and longer as she aged), she’d simply let out a lengthy, multi-syllabic groan, right next to hubby’s ear. (I, as it turned out, was spared because I’d long worn earplugs to sleep, defense against the hubs’s bulldozer-like snores. I knew there’d have to be some benefit at some point!).
Heeding the call, the HH would then leap up, poke me to get up as well, and we’d usher our old girl over to the staircase where we’d insert her back legs into a makeshift sling, an old cloth grocery bag with the side seams opened and laid flat, a hole cut for each leg. I’d then grab her collar while hubby took hold of the “sling’s” handles, and we’d more or less carry her down the stairs.
Once down on the main floor, we’d quickly extricate her legs from the sling and guide her to the back door, where we’d help her down the two additional steps to the yard so she could do her thing.
And yeah, I know what you’re thinking: “What if they didn’t get up fast enough? What if they didn’t make it on time? What if she couldn’t hold it long enough–??”
Yes, that happened on occasion, too. And when it did, even at those times, our girl wasn’t too proud to accept our aid as we cleaned up the mess.
Throughout the procedure and later when we helped her back up the stairs with our makeshift grocery-bag “stair lift,” it was clear from her face that she wasn’t exactly thrilled requiring the extra assistance. But she knew it was necessary, and she was therefore willing to request it.
The truth is, as much as I never begrudged Chaser a single second of her neediness, I myself have a hard time asking for help.
Case in point: A bunch of friends and I were reminiscing yesterday about “the day the whole Internet went down” (and all the bells were not ringing).**
While pretty much everyone else recounted how they’d driven to a relative’s house to wait through the blackout or called upon a neighbor with a functioning cell phone or asked their cousin for a cup of coffee (nothing to do with the internet, but still a nice treat), I remained silent.
True, my only relatives live more than 500 km (350 miles) away. One neighbor has been noncommunicative ever since we asked them to move their kid’s basketball hoop away from our car, which incurred dozens of dents from wayward basketballs. The other, albeit friendly, neighbor doesn’t speak a single word of English. (How does one say, “Let’s toast marshmallows in the backyard” in Hindi, anyway?).
Why so reluctant to ask for assistance? It might be because I grew up in a home where we learned early on that we’d need to take care of ourselves. My mom’s undiagnosed depression undoubtedly contributed, leaving us children on our own to make our breakfasts (saltines and peanut butter with chocolate milk); choose our own after-school activities (watching Another World ); wash our own clothing and complete our own homework entirely unhindered by any parental intrusion.
As a result, I grew up believing I had to “figure it out myself” and deal with whatever came my way, on my own.
The pinnacle of this mindset became painfully apparent during the final semester of my Master’s degree. Despite daily panic attacks that consumed sometimes up to 20 hours a day at the time, I nevertheless felt obliged to hand in all my essays on time. It never even occurred to me to ask for an extension.
On the other hand, I also know there’s a fine line between “asking for help when you need it” and “becoming a mooch.” And it’s true, people will likely tire of your entreaties if you consistently request their help, say, daily for three months. But once in a while? Anyone who cares even a whit about you and your wellbeing should be just fine helping you out.
Is there something you could hit up a loved one to help you with this week? Or how about a colleague who might know more about the innter workings of Excel than you do? Even asking the greeter at Lowe’s to direct you toward the garden center counts here.
So this week, go forth and ask for what you need, as well as what you want. You might just be surprised by how willing others are to help.
** Too obscure an allusion? Check out the original here:
Follow up to last week’s challenge: Display your love generously, and often
Who benefited from your extra expressions of love this past week? I must admit, the HH was a little startled when I sneaked up on him from behind and started kissing his neck, telling him how much I love him. (But startled in a good way).
Zoey, of course, was another frequent recipient of my effusive expressions of love. She’s very comfortable accepting any and all affection.
And I was delightfully surprised when my sister told me she loved me—a rare expression, indeed! (Thanks for reading and following along, Sis).
The most interesting exchange came at the end of a 75-minute (!!) online chat with Alex, a computer tech person who helped me through a snafu with one of my programs. After leading me through the process of installing, then uninstalling, then re-installing and activating the app, I almost cried when it finally worked. I repeatedly expressed my gratitude and appreciation.
Yes, Alex, you got a 5-star review. Exceptional customer service! I sincerely hope the company gives you a raise.
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