September 9, 2020

White Dog leaned against me. "I worry when you can post the day's blog before the day has barely begun. Do you do it in recognition that this will be the most exciting thing to happen? Or is it sort of like marking the doorway that bad luck has already visited and need not return?"

The heavy winds of yesterday continued throughout the night. Bedtime walks were a race for the WDA teams to put in their steps and get back inside before being blown away. Extra treats (to warm the pack) were distributed and Steve ran to the basement to make sure the pilot light to the furnace had not been gusted out (it had not). Then all tucked into beds and curled up to sleep. The winds continued and the dog door flapped from nature's efforts to get inside.

The franticness of Steve's tone snapped my slow return to morning into red alert. "I have already searched everywhere and cannot find Bella. Help me."

She had not appeared as the first greeter of the morning nor had she gone out to the kitchen for breakfast. Steve at first assumed she was sleeping in after the rough night but she was not in her usual spots. When he woke me he had searched the house and yard.

Systematically, I directed Steve and flashlight through each room to look under furniture and in corners. Closets were peered into. Cabinet doors opened. The sunporch was checked. We retraced Steve's steps of last night to the basement and back (even though the door is kept closed and locked). Nothing. 

All of the gates to the yard were locked as normal. The winds had not tipped over any outdoor furniture nor had My Tiny Dancer somehow managed to circumvent the safety netting that skirts the deck and blocks access. The shed door was still packlocked as was the utilities closet for the studio. The studio itself was locked tight but Steve open all of the doors and looked inside just to be certain. 

I was starting to feel my chest tighten as I considered if she could have been taken when Roman burst through the dog door. Steve came into the bedroom holding my trembling and cold baby girl. I wrapped her in a blanket and drew her into my arms before looking at Steve.

"She was hiding way under the woodpile," he told me. "I did not see her at first she was all curled tight and did not move. I feared something awful." I pressed Bella closer and cooed to ease her shaking. 

"The best I can figure is that we did not hear her go out in the night because the door was banging. She must have gone and done what she needed to but in the confusion of wind and cold she lost her way back up the ramp and could not find her way in. She crawled into the wood to stay safe and warm. It was in the forties last night."

With Bella's growing dementia we have discussed the point at which she would need to be comfortably confined at bedtime. As Bella hungrily devoured her waiting breakfast and an herbal calming tab, We set up the space we are thinking of using...the mattressed area by the toy boxes. We can add a wire divider between Bailey's and Roman's crates to enclose the area; add an extra soft blanket for nesting and it makes the perfect Bella bed. The question will be if her Sundowner's movements will rattle Roman or is she will settle down.

We put Bells in the space for a test drive/ much needed nap. "I am sure our poor adventurer did not sleep a wink," White Dog said. Roman moved into his bed with door open until the little girl was softly snoring.