Seven Weeks with Skye

When I took time off of work to study for the bar exam, I knew that being home for seven weeks with my dog Skye was going to be an interesting situation, if only for the fact that I am still, 18 months after bringing her into my home, allergic to her. That crap that people give you about, “You get used to it,” is the greatest bullshit on earth. But, whatever, allergy medicine helps. What it doesn’t help is my other big problem, which is my need to be left alone. It’s not like I could give Skye a couple of bucks and tell her to go to the mall for a few hours. I would never let her drive on the freeway! And there was no point in me leaving the house because that would make me encounter people who bother me more than her. So I was stuck with the dog for seven weeks.


As it turns out, those seven weeks were our bonding time. In the first week, nothing was really different. Skye and I are both independent girls, so she had her friends (a group of stuffed animals named Tweety, Brown Dog, and Nathan), and I had my friends (my books and tears). Aside from walking her in the morning and evening and her hanging out with me when I finally flipped on the TV around 9 at night, we did our own thing. But as the weeks began to roll by, our agendas began to merge. By the end, she was literally with me 24 hours a day. We started our morning together with a walk, and then, as I made the coffee and dosed myself with allergy medicine, she waited patiently at the back door. As the sun began to lighten the sky, we sat on the back porch, me studying, Skye keeping watch for the squirrels and birds that had the nerve to want to invade our yard. At first, I thought her attacks on the birds and squirrels were because she thought they looked delicious, but after a time, I realized that she was protecting our house, and me, from what she saw as an enemy. The only thing that Skye wants to kill is cats, and that’s only because she obviously thinks they are assholes. Birds and squirrels, however, she just wants gone.

As the morning wore on, Skye would take a nap on the porch, and then awaken, and stand on my books and outlines, signaling me to take a break and play ball with her. She totally does not understand the rules of soccer. Instead, she would just grab the ball between her teeth and wait for me to spin her around, helicopter style, while she held onto the ball. I, on the other hand, scored a LOT of goals on her. Don’t think I didn’t rub her face in that. Dogs should never play goalie.

Later in the day, we’d move inside. She’d find a spot on the couch and snooze out again, until late afternoon, when it was time for another walk and chowtime. As the summer wore on, we became so close that I started taking her on errands, something I hate to do because she is a hairy beast, and vacuuming my car is a pain in the ass. We began to have conversations. Here is an example:

Me: “Skye, I am worried that Ted is a demonic teddy bear.” (Ted was either a stuffed teddy bear that my son had abandoned in the black hole of his bedroom OR a disguised demon that was probably going to murder me in my sleep.)

Skye: blank stare.

Me: “Skye, if Ted is a demon, you need to hide him. If you’re trying to tell me he’s a demon by bringing him down here into the living room, I am not getting the hint. Hide him under my bed if he’s a demon.”

Skye: blank stare.

For the record, Ted is probably not a demon. But if I end up murdered in my sleep, you all know who did it.

We had really good conversations, me and Skye, only occasionally punctuated by me making fun of her inability to type, incompetence in using the backdoor key, or for her obsession with smelling her own farts. We only really got in one fight, and just between us, she was probably right on that one.

The best thing, though, about being with Skye, was the way she let me know that everything was going to be okay. Living with anxiety and studying for the bar are incompatible things, but just when I needed her, Skye would do something amazing. One morning, I was pacing around the house, muttering rule statements to myself and freaking out, and when I looked up, Skye was just sitting there, calmly watching me. She then gave me a little Shiba grin, to let me know that everything was going to be okay, and suddenly, I felt like it would be. Another day, I was sitting on the couch, practicing multiple choice questions and freaking out, and from her perch on the back of the couch, Skye just put her little paw on my shoulder and left it there. And things instantly felt better.

I felt about the same leaving her at the door on my first day back to work as I felt leaving my now-grown son at daycare for the first time, but I’m so glad that we had our time together. Not just because Skye was a great comfort for me when I was studying, but because I got the chance, over and over again, to see her beautiful little dog soul.  Good dog, Skye.  Good dog.