random truths – Day 1,029 (Tuesday) – failure

There was a meeting after work. In preparation,  Winston was fed, put outside to potty, and rewarded with a cookie upon reentry to the dwelling. My own supper of vegetable, bean, and barley soup with a sprinkle of shredded Italian cheese blend was exactly the same thing as lunch.

A notepad and pen were set near the computer, along with the board reports that had been provided in advance. The email was opened with the Zoom link ready to be clicked for entry to the cyber gathering.

The human said it wasn't my fault.

Board business was conducted, and I scribbled notes in the role of secretary. About halfway into the meeting, Win could be heard in the dining room, barking near the front door.  It was his kind, gentle, bark which changes between the very polite excuse me please “oof, oof” and the slightly louder hey, I need help “arf, arf.” 

I heard him, but I was in a meeting and taking the notes and couldn’t stop just then. When it seemed I could step away to jog the 20 steps to Winston, I turned up the speaker volume and turned off the video, and bolted from the desk. Winston was slowly heading back into the kitchen, and there was a big wet spot on the wool rug in the dining room behind him. Big, as in about 12 inches long and three inches wide. And it wasn’t his fault. He had stood at the door and barked to go out and I ignored him because it wasn't convenient. Multiple times. So he did what he had to do in the absence of the potty pads on the floor and the diaper wrap around his body that are usually present when I leave the house. I failed him.

Paper towels and the red plastic spray bottle of Nature’s Miracle to neutralize the odor were grabbed to address the mess. The nearest issue of Worcester Business Journal was grabbed to set under the rug under the wet spot (sorry WBJ, it was handy). Then, I bolted back to the meeting. 

Poor Winston slunk to the kitchen. I gave him a cookie. And another. And another. He gets lots of cookies when I feel guilty about leaving him and tonight, for ignoring his request for help because he lacks the resources to turn the doorknob and let himself out.

After the meeting, I finished cleaning up the wet spill in Aisle One. The apologies to Winston began with me telling him he is a good boy and it wasn’t his fault. That’s when I couldn’t remember if I gave him his insulin with his dinner. I remember chopping the chicken, mixing it with the pricey prescription food he hates, nuking a cup of water and adding it to warm the chicken and soften the kibble. I remember setting the bowl on the mat near the water bowl and Winston eating it. And maybe the insulin was taken from the fridge, shaken and nine units measured and given. Or maybe that was this morning? Or yesterday. 

There was no way to tell if the dose was done or not, but it is better to miss one than to double dose the insulin. So, I’ll just worry about it all night, but chances are very good it won’t be forgotten at breakfast.