Dog Tired

I started this blog because I had hoped to share some of my own feelings and experiences in the hopes that others would not feel the way I did during divorce. If you were like me, you were surrounded by loving and supportive family and friends. Still, they could not truly know the pain and helplessness I felt at times. This post is a look back on one particular time of feeling helpless. I am sure this is not unique to just women. I am betting that some men open a cookbook for the first time post divorce, and don't have a clue how to zest a lemon, what Tbsp. stands for, and can't imagine how you fold together the ingredients!

Dog-tired.
Dog-tired is an idiom for exhausted. I believe it to be a combination of physical and mental exhaustion.
My story begins really before my divorce was final. I had moved to the opposite side of the county for a two month house sitting opportunity. I took my white boxer, Doc, with me. He was to become quick buddies with Lida, a white labradoodle that resided at the home I was watching.

The house sat off from the road and was a three story structure I soon dubbed my sanctuary. Behind the house was a winding creek that could be watched from the expanse of deck and patio that stretched the length of the home. Beside the house was a water garden with a rippling stream and a large comfortable chair to watch the sunset over the farm fields nearby. The solitude this place brought was exactly what I needed. I could come home from work, enjoy dinner on the patio, read, pray, take care of the flowers, or walk the long drive with the dogs tagging along beside me. More often than not, we all found ourselves stretched out in the wicker furniture along the back on Sunday afternoons, dog-tired, and taking a nap.

On this particular hot Sunday afternoon, I was also watching Stanton, my daughter's puggle. All three dogs had played in and out of the creek, and were content to nap on the straw mats while I nodded off to sleep myself.
Suddenly, all three dogs shot "like a bat out of hell " towards the other end of the house. I always wondered what "a bat out of hell" meant. Now, I knew.
I jumped up to find the three dogs had a groundhog corned up against the house. All three dogs were growling, barking, and lunging towards the hissing groundhog.
It has to be sick, perhaps rabid, I thought. Why else would it be out in the day up near the house?
I was stricken with fear. What should I do?  This was a man's job! How am I supposed to handle this? This is so unfair!

I did what every woman would do in this situation. I started to cry and dial every man in my cell phone memory! Can you believe the only one who answered was out of town? I hung up on him.
I remembered vaguely the homeowner mentioning a gun..... somewhere. Trouble was, I had no clue as how to load it! Or, for that matter, where the ammunition was even at!About the time panic was setting in full force, Doc, lunged at the groundhog, clamped his jaws on it and shook it until it died.

Let me tell you, there is a fine line between relief and terror level two.
Imagine each dog had to take turns running through the yard with this "thing" hanging limply from it's jaws. We can't just let it hang there, oh no, we have to fling it.... and they wanted to show it to me!

It might have been the screaming, or maybe it was the hysterical shrieking that made the dogs drop it.
I don't know.
I do know that my gag reflex was pushed to it's limits as I somehow managed to fling it into the creek, hoping it would just glide on down the river.....
no luck.
Stanton retrieved it and bless his little heart, he brought it right back up on the porch!
So, I buried it.
They unburied it.

Dusk was settling in by the time I had it bucketed. I had three dogs covered in blood and dirt and little pieces of.....(shudder), there was that gag reflex again....
I was dog-tired from cleaning up this mess.
Dog-tired from giving three dogs a bath.
Dog-tired from hauling the critter a few miles away in the car and dumping it in the ditch.

There have been other man jobs I have had to figure out. Sometimes, I feel like Hercules when I put together a table and bar stools on my own. Other times, I have felt overwhelmed at chores like cleaning out gutters, removing a tick from the dog, or fixing a loose door knob.
These were things that I didn't ever worry about before. That was someone else's jobs. Now suddenly, every job is my job. All by myself to figure out to do or find someone to help me do it. Jobs that make you dog-tired.

There really isn't a profound lesson here. Sometimes it is okay to be exhausted.
With exhaustion, comes rest.
With rest, comes restoration.
And until the next man job that comes along, I am restored.


"He restores my soul..." Psalms 23:3