What it is to Love and Care for an Animal

David left town, too, to meet his wife and child on the East Coast, and I stayed on in Portland and looked after their house and dog. If Fiona took Summer with her then David took whatever was left of Spring, and the rain kept on until I began to wonder if there might be some kind of flood.

Lola doesn't seem that keen on getting wet but we go out anyway just so she can take a shit. I pick it up afterwards and put it in the bin, and even though the plastic bag stops any of it touching my skin I can still feel the warmth of it on my hand when we get back in. I get showered and put my pyjamas on because I feel like I'm getting a cold. That's okay. I'm tired of keeping busy and I want an excuse to just curl up into a foetal position for a while and mope.

I lie in bed for the day, then sneeze my way to the grocery store for enough food to survive a small nuclear war. Lola waits outside in a puddle, her ears pricking up every time she hears the automatic doors. A woman called Maureen helps me bag up my cans of soup then hands me a dog treat to give to her.

"I was brought up in a home with many pets," she says. "I know what it is to love and care for an animal."

Maureen looks and speaks like a robot, as if she never loved or cared about anything in her life, but I know that appearances can be deceptive and so I clear my throat and say thanks, that's kind. The only reason my voice still works is because of this dog. Sit down, good girl, come here. Let's make some tea and you can tell me all about your day. I very badly want her to sleep up against me on the bed at night, but she keeps jumping off and going back to Fiona and David's room as if they're still there, but they're not.

When we get in from the store I try to start packing up for New York, but just the thought of getting on a plane again exhausts me and I just lie there on the couch and stare at the wall. I decide to eat something and look online for a while, and a message pops up from Therese saying if I'm coming to NYC then maybe we could meet up? I'm excited by this because I like her blog, and I think she likes mine because she mentions the briefcase and the rogue dollars and stuff. I wonder if I should let my image slide and tell her that right now I'm lying on the couch with a bowl of mashed potato and just thinking about flying is making my legs feel paralysed. But in the end I write back and just say hey, yes, that would be great, maybe we can go out taking photos around Brooklyn. I include some exclamation marks then delete them again in case I put her off. Then I put them back in and hit send and immediately regret them again.

Eventually, Lola asks for dinner and I get up to feed her and give her fresh water. She's getting kind of old, I think. The rain seems to have stopped and sunshine cracks up the clouds so we go out to the porch together and I give her some fuss. Lie down, roll over, let me rub your tummy. Want to see a movie together this weekend? I wonder what I'll do tonight. Hot bath, maybe, then play the guitar. I forgot that my legs are supposed to be paralysed. I guess I just stopped thinking about that stuff when it was time to get up and feed the dog.