A few weeks ago I left work early, sick and exhausted. At home, I crawled straight into bed.
At some point in the afternoon, Pettigrew came up to join me, perhaps after I didn’t show up to take him for his afternoon walk and he had to accept my son as a substitute walker.
His love and care touched me. We sat on the rug for a bit, me rubbing his back, until even that exertion was too much effort and I lay down on the carpet beside him.
Apparently lying next to him was a breach of etiquette that he could not countenance. With a disdainful look over his shoulder, he repaired to his dog bed. A place that is all his.
But at least he was with me in my time of need. In the room. Keeping me company.
Later that night I found out even that level of support was contingent. He started scratching at the door to be let out and once out, he never came back. Not for the whole, long night that stretched ahead with my achy head, shivers, and stuffy nose.
My dog and body’s betrayal compounded my disappointment. My other son was coming home for the first time from college. He would only be in town for a few short days, and I was sick. Unable to give him a hug, a warm welcome, or spend time with him.
Abandoned by my dog and unable to see my child I was miserable.
Only later did I realize that Pettigrew was probably just as eager to see his missing compatriot. His abandonment of me probably coincided with when my son arrived home.
This made it all more understandable, though I do think, after the greetings were done, Pettigrew could’ve come back and checked on me.
It’s clear where I fall in his priorities.