Two for the sofa…

This was a week I saw coming a mile away.

You ever have one of those weeks? The kind that you’ve been predicting for some time, saying things like, “One of these days, we’re going to have to…” and then you do?

That was this week.

For months now, I’ve been saying to Vicky, “We’re going to have to start keeping Suki downstairs at night. She just can’t take the stairs the way she used to.” Suki is our Shiba Inu. She’s about 14. (This is the point where Vicky will correct me. I’m terrible with these things.) Where she used to be able to trot up and down our stairs several times each day, recently, she’s been slipping and sliding. Her back legs have been going out on her. She stumbles.

It’s just not pretty.

So, this was the week. Suki moved downstairs.

And though I hadn’t been mentioning this next bit to Vicky, I knew what would go right alongside that – right alongside Suki, I mean. Me. That’s what would go alongside of her. Me.

I had to move downstairs, too.

Because Suki did not like moving downstairs at all. Not one bit. She would begin crying and the only thing that put her at ease was another person with her. And Vicky needed the bed. Vicky works a real job.

So, downstairs I moved. Suki took her dog bed. I took the sofa.

And, let me tell you, my back is not built of solid steel, the way it once was. Nope. Now, when I sleep on the sofa, my back kind of conforms to its horrible curves. I wake up feeling like a dingbat font.

But this is what you do. You know? If we had kids, I’d be up with them. If we had an elderly parent living with us, I’d be… you know what, I don’t want to think about that. Anyway, Suki is like an elderly parent. And she needs me.

She’s stinky and she sheds. She’s standoffish and never listens. But she needs me.

This is what you do.