Their Bags Are Packed

"Their bags are packed, they’re ready to go. I’m lying here beside the door. Already I’m so lonesome, I could die."

With a nudge of the nose to John Denver, my life was a sad, sad song last week.

Their bags are packed, they’re ready to go...

The “THEY” I’m talking about are my people. My pack. The ones I can lay my head on when the wind rattles the panes. The ones who sneak me Cheez-Its when they stop to visit. These are the people I hike with. Eat with. Chill with. I am a pack animal, and without my pack I am as lonely as a boat bobbing in the middle of the ocean. Send in the dolphins. Send in the gulls. They might prevent me from being alone, but they are not of my pack so when my family leaves, I flounder in the Sea of Lonely. Just thinking about it makes my stomach tighten up into a little knot.

“Oh, honey, we won’t be gone that long,” Mom said, rubbing my ears. I laid at her feet as she wrote notes to the house sitter; I pawed at her leg as she crossed things off the packing list. Not once did she say, “Oh, I can’t forget the leashes,” or “I need to put dog bowls on the list.”

A dog can decipher the writing on the wall, even if we can’t read a lick of it. And there was no doubt that this particular wall was screaming, “You are not invited to the party!”

My sister, Ellie, started stressing as soon as the suitcases made an appearance. Ellie is an interesting mix of crazy and sensitive, and the vibes emanating from her bed wailed to the world that a Bad Thing was about to happen. Since Ellie is only a fan of situations that are Normal Everyday Things, she even skipped eating her breakfast that morning.

“Oh, Eleanor,” my mom rubbed Ellie’s hips in just the perfect way she liked. “You will be fine. Michael is coming to stay with you guys, and you love Michael.”

Yes, we love Michael. This has nothing to do with us not loving Michael. Even I could see that Mom was missing the point. Michael is very nice, but he doesn’t say, “Are you girls hungry?” before he fills up our food bowls. He lets us out the front door in the morning instead of the back door. He sits in the chair closest to the door instead of in the one closest to the sink when he works on his computer. And he doesn’t know that, if I lie in that special spot on the steps, he is supposed to rub my tummy and tell me I’m the cutest dog ever.

Michael is nice but he is not in our pack. To a human, this might be similar to how a hotel bed is comfy, but it is not YOUR bed.

I’m lying here beside the door…

Sometimes we go in for boarding when my family goes away and Michael can’t come over. Ellie and I are used to going to the clinic because Mom works there, but it’s different when we stay overnight. There are other dogs around, and some Scout, Duke or Brandy is always putting on a show of bravado, like they actually enjoy being at the kennel and don’t miss their owners. They bark and carry on like everything is fine and dandy.

But we’re not fine.

When the last dog comes in for the night, and the staff gives us our final treat and shuts off the light, we are all the same dog in the dark. We miss our familiar beds. We miss the familiar voices. We miss our pack. Noses curl to tails as the silence settles around us, and our hearts pound in our ears. Ka thump. Ka thump. Ka thump.

A mournful dirge to accompany us through the long night.

Already I’m so lonesome, I could die…

Well, I know I won’t DIE but sometimes it’s just really really hard when you’re lonely. As a therapy dog, I know that one way to beat loneliness is to find someone who seems even MORE lonely than you are, and reach out to them. I also have learned that it helps if you can concentrate on things that are good right this very moment. A sun-warmed deck. A fresh rabbit trail teeming with musky molecules.

A fish cracker hiding beneath the edge of the couch.

So, while my family was gone, I tried to focus on those things instead of looking at the pair of shoes under the bench. Or the leash hanging in the closet. And thank goodness that Michael was generous with the dog treats. Mom had bought some special yummy ones for him to give us, and even Ellie eventually started eating hers.

And finally, we heard the closing of a familiar car door. “We’re home!” The hiking shoes and board games were once again piled by the door, but now Ellie happily sniffed them because this was a Good Thing. Our pack had safely returned to the home harbor, and the Sea of Lonely evaporated away.

“See, I told you it wouldn’t be so bad,” Mom said as she rubbed our ears. “And thanks to COVID-19, it will be a while again before we can be leavin’ on a jet plane.”

Mom likes John Denver from back in the old days, and we cut her some slack since she IS a charter member of the pack. But, for a few days, at least, please don’t say “Take me home” or “Country Roads” or we’ll never get her to stop singing. (Life in the pack is good, but it sure ain't perfect...)