11.20.2018

November 20, 2018

White Dog and the rest of the White Dog Army were as frenzied as Nilla as they called for me to HELP her. But I could not.

I ran out as soon as Nil's plaintive cry began and could not see her. Sometimes when she is the midst of a dementia episode she will get herself "stuck" in a corner and forget how to turn around to safety. I can usually talk her through by having her follow the sound of my voice until her mind remembers. But not this afternoon.

I found her. Somehow she had managed to crawl behind the pantry shelves and get trapped. She was splayed on her belly with the legs on one side slid under the unit. Nilla was not harmed but very scared. She was panicked beyond listening...or being a help to work to solve the problem.

To get her out would require someone to at least sit on the floor to unpack the bottom shelf and then reach behind to gently turn and maneuver her across the shelf and into their arms. "OK, Baby Girl," I spoke in a singsong, "You get yourself in quite the spot here. Momma can't manage this one but you are not injured. It IS scary, I know. I am going to call dad and he will come right home to help you. Until he arrives I will keep talking to you so you know you are not alone."

Above the pack's restless and fearful reaction...Tizenegy nervously barked; Opal ran to hide; Zso and Bailey howled to HELP HER; Bella yipped and ran back and forth in the kitchen...I called Steve. Thankfully he answered.

The first sound he heard was Nilla. "I will be right home," he responded without waiting for my words. He called me from the car. I explained. He could hear the mayhem. "Traffic is not too bad; I should be home in less than ten minutes."

He ran into the house in seven and strode into the pantry. "I am here," he told Nilla. It took a little work to extract Our Girl. I wrapped her in a towel and crushed her against me as Steve restocked the shelf and added another gate across the alcove.

Then he helped clean her up. Each of the White Dog Army came over to check on her and to receive a bit of their own reassurance. "When in doubt, treat." White Dog reminded me. Duck jerky goes a LONG way in reducing trauma.

Our Nilla Bean was exhausted from her misadventure. Soon she was asleep in my arms. Steve lifted her and arranged her on her bed where she would be safe and warm before dashing back to the office.

White Dog leaned against my leg. "You, too, momma. Breathe. All is good." I slid my hand down her flank. "Nothing is scarier to me than any of you in distress." She repeated, "All is good. Breathe." "Thankfully," I breathed, "but Nilla's dementia is not getting better. What about next time?" WD licked my hand.

2 comments:

Random Felines said...

it is so hard - you all are doing your best to keep her safe and that means everything

meowmeowmans said...

Poor Nilla. And poor all of you. That must be so hard, but we are grateful for all you do for her, with so much love.