The Anti-Fungal Isn’t Working

I just looked on Ethel’s desk in her office and saw a pill bottle – an anti-fungal prescription for Lucy from the vet.

One look at Lucy shows that the anti-fungal isn’t working:

fungal

When we got Lucy from the rescue, her name was “Shadow”. We quickly found out that that was because she followed her owner everywhere, all the time. Turns out that Lucy had been abandoned once or twice, and so she had abandonment issues.

That was twelve years ago.

Now, you’d think that, by now, Lucy’s abandonment issues would have vanished – since her IQ is on the level of a diet soda, how long would she remember that she was abandoned, anyway? She doesn’t remember anything else, how could she remember that?

But if something is simple enough, then it never changes – there aren’t enough moving parts to rearrange. And Lucy’s psyche is pretty darn simple. And she still follows Ethel, everywhere, all the time.

If I ever wonder where Ethel is, I just look for Lucy. If I see Lucy by the back door, it means that Ethel went outside. If I see Lucy by the garage door, it means that Ethel went out and got in the car and drove away.

(It may have been last week that Ethel drove away, but that’s okay – Lucy doesn’t handle concepts like “passage of time”. Lucy just keeps looking at that door.)

Although sometimes using Lucy as an Ethel monitor doesn’t work – if Ethel goes to the bathroom, Lucy goes with her, and I can’t see either one of them. (You’d think that this would be crowded, especially in the little parlor room off the hall. But there’s room for Lucy between the toilet and the vanity. Even if she has to scrunch up a little). And, truth be told, if Lucy is visible, then Ethel is usually visible. Two feet seems to be Lucy’s tolerance – if Ethel moves more than two feet, then Lucy has to get up and follow her. So usually, if I can see Lucy, then I can see Ethel.

But sometimes Ethel goes into a room and closes the door, forgetting that Lucy is following her. Then I will walk down the hall and see Lucy staring at the office or bedroom or training room door, frantic – she’ll even look at me, briefly, then back at the door, then back at me, then back at the door, as if to say “Dad! Mom’s…behind that door! She left me! Dad! She’s…in there! Do something!”

(I don’t do something, BTW).

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