21 February 2008

Timmy goes for a ride.

Last night, while me and the small dogs were all at Dirt Nite, Gary tried to take Timmy for a ride in the car. Timmy started the ride by launching from the back of his car-it's a Volvo wagon-straight forward, through the seats, into the dash. Wham. He pulled over, put him in the back again. He seemed ok. He went a couple miles and then all of a sudden, Timmy had this total freakout of flying around in the back, bouncing off the walls and the ceiling and the windows and barking (he never barks anymore-since he's been old, he just stopped barking). Just total, batshit crazy flying around in the back.

Like remember the molecule ride at Disneyland? Where they shrink you in your little haunted mansion wagon? And you enter the land of the atoms and they are flinging themselves about, creating fission or fusion or a nuclear explosion or some kind of Monsanto chemical? And the molecule ride is gone now, replaced with something fancier. He was like an atom. Flinging and smashing, trying to make something happen.

So he pulled over and kind of grabbed him somehow from the front seat and just held on to him til he settled down. It took about 5 minutes and he was only a few blocks from our house but he was afraid to drive with him. Finally it seemed like he de-freaked, so he drove home. Timmy couldn't stop pacing and freaking out. But as soon as I got home around 10 with the other dogs, he seemed normal. Which for Timmy now, is pretty bizarre and demented head in the mailbox most of the time but it just sort of seems normal now.

All we can think is he couldn't see when he was in the car because it was dark, got freaked out and if he's not with the other dogs he just totally loses any sense of reality and his mind explodes of freakout. If it's dark, and he can't see, then he gets demented and doesn't remember where he is and there's no other dogs around or me for a reality check, he just goes Helen Keller maybe. He's home alone all day without the other days when I'm at work, but he seems to just sleep in the day and kind of wakes up at night when we're all home. Poor Timmy. It's hard to be lonely and demented. At least he has his own whole herd of therapy dogs.

2 comments:

Deb said...

I bet you're right, Laura. He must be using his sense of smell and touch to keep track of the other dogs who help Timmy with his bearings. Dogs have a great way of accepting their short comings, unlike people who go on about the things they can no longer do. Maybe dogs are our Zen masters and we should all follow their example.

Mary Schultz said...

Poor Timmy! Poor Gary! (I hope he got a little therapy after the traumatic event.) Poor Laura, too! I hope there were a few See's candies left over, for comfort. Especially since there wasn't even a real Project Runway episode that night. When it rains it pours.

Yes, Deb. It's tempting to suspect that living a dog's life might be an improvement on the human variety. For example, Ariel puts a Zen-like spin on the old adage, "Keep your eye on the ball" that is pretty inspiring. Did you notice that she ran way better once I gave up all the interim treats, carrying a ball, (trying to) play tug at the bottom of the A-frame, and just put the ball on top of the fence? I have known for a year that this is how she works best, but keep giving into the received wisdom that she should get treats (that she doesn't want), and ball throwing immediately after a successfully completed obstacle. She wants to run the whole course because she's got her eye on the ball (at the end, on the fence). That's who she is. In fact, she's lying here at my feet, completely relaxed, but I know she is nonetheless in a floating ball-alert state. If I merely look over at her, she will come to attention, read my body language, and jump up if there's a hint of ball-possibility. If not, it's back to Zen-ball snoozing.

It does seem an uncomplicated, high-order life, in some respects. Balls never hurt anyone, and are built for fun.