Zoloft, Don’t Let Me Down Now

Today hasn’t been one of my better days. I opened the store, and was running late because the dogs got up with me and wanted to go out. I was rushing around at the last minute to get everything together when I remembered I had to brew twelve (12!) extra full carafes of coffee for a special order that was coming in at 7am. I broke out in a little sweat, but kept my cool.

Leticia was opening with me, and despite having been gone for 5 months, she didn’t seem to have any problem remembering what to do and where everything was. Sarah offered to come in and help us with the coffee order and I tried to talk her out of it because she had already scheduled herself from noon to close. Why would you want to come in at 6:30 when you have to be there at twelve?

Turns out it was a good thing; our 8am chick — the new girl who has called in five or more times already — never bothered to show up. Sarah ended up working until 11 when I sent her home, and she came back around 1:30. I offered to return again, myself, so she wouldn’t have to stay for the full close, but she refused.

Being the extraordinary person that I am, I then suggested I open the store for her tomorrow morning and she doesn’t have to come in until 10 or 11. This has not been one of my better choices because I’ve been a wreck all night. Not because I have to work, but because we’re supposed to be bringing in a foster dog tomorrow sometime, Charlie will be gone all day playing golf with his dad for Charlie’s birthday, and Trinity can’t seem to move one of her back legs without screaming in pain.

Sometime after our 4pm walk, she started howling whenever she moved. It got worse and worse. By the time Charlie had left for work and I was brushing my teeth, getting ready to settle in, Trinity tried getting up and made a noise like I have never heard come out of an animal before. I shot down the stairs and she was just standing at the bottom of them, holding her back left leg up and staring at me. I asked if she needed to go outside and potty, and she started to head toward the back door, but kept howling whenever she would take a step.

When I managed to help all 90 pounds of her down the four steps to the backyard, she just walked over behind the air conditioning unit and began digging a hole. She then laid down in it and wouldn’t even look at me when I stood in front of her and called her name.

Being the logical, rational person that I am, I immediately started freaking out. All I could think was “Isn’t this something animals do when they’re going to die? Go dig a hole and lay in it?” Next thing I knew, I was calling Charlie, hysterical, and telling him I couldn’t get her to move. Because I was inconsolable, he came right home and managed to get her to pee and come inside. We ended up putting a towel on the couch and creating a series of steps so she could get up.

I’m currently curled up on the other side of the sofa, next to my recently moved alarm clock, wishing I hadn’t offered to work tomorrow morning. The good thing is, I’ll be getting home as Charlie’s leaving, so Trinity won’t be alone at all. I’ve already decided to take the Cesar Millan approach with the foster dog and introduce him slowly to the house, room-by-room, rather than dumping him in the living room. It will be easier on Trinity, anyway.


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