Mood: accident prone
Topic: "Georgia on my Mind"(3)
Dementia is something humans seem to know a lot more about these days, simply because it seems to be everywhere. Longer lives, and dumber politicians, make it a topic of conversation almost everywhere you go. It is not restricted to humans however, so Hobbits and other inhabitants of the Shire are also susceptible. The tale this evening dear reader, is of how it affects Georgia.
This chihuahua mix was introduced to you some time ago. Sam rescued her during a hospice volunteer episode when no one seemed to want the last possession of an old man, one which he had called "Baby." When she was admitted to membership in the Shire, the name was changed to protect the innocent and hence "Georgia" was welcomed by all, Smaller than Mr. Beau Neau, she was not viewed as a threat by any member of the cast. Despite the lack of vision in one eye, advanced age, crooked teeth, and limited auditory ability (or attention), it was clear thaat the routine in the Shire was the happiest times of her life. Frodo was fond of saying that "Every day is Christmas for Georgia," and he was right on the beam.
Accidents now seem to occur almost daily. Sam watches nervously for the aimless wandering in circles that seems to precede the inevitable squat and flow on the kitchen floor. The other inhabitants of the Shire, including Sydney the cockatiel, seem to recognize the faux pas and run for cover, lest they, too, fall prey to Sam's displeasure. Sam is almost at wit's end, and reflexively spouts displeasure at the performance of what could indeed be an "illegal alien" in the Shire.
Frodo has pointed out to Sam that returning Georgia to a location south of the American border is infeasible. Punishment for one who is merely trying to make her way as best she can in a big, cruel world serves little purpose, other than to satisfy the more demonic parts of the psyche.
The proposed solution is to confine Georgia to the exterior gardens of the Shire during the day with sufficient leash to allow her to sleep peacefully in the shade, and to wander about without strangling herself.
There are, it seems, solutions to every problem. Coming up with something that works may take a little time, and there will probably be a little suffering along the way, but blind old dogs aren't much different from people who don't speak the same language.
Georgia is asleep in her bed now, snoring in what seems to be Spanish. Her ribs are beginning to show through her mottled coat, reflecting the fact that age withers weight from the torso as systems begin to break down. When she awakes she will todder about for quite some minutes as she orients herself from the bedroom down to the kitchen then, hopefully, downstairs and out the dog-door into the gardens. Frodo thinks of the words from one of the earliest of Beatle songs. It goes, ". . .my independence seems to vanish in the haze. . .," and so it does.
That doesn't mean that her dignity goes with her independence. The gardens of the Shire are most enjoyable at this time of year, so Georgia can look forward to pleasant surroundings. She may whine when she realizes that she is not in the immediate vicinity of her fellow residents, but frequent visits from Fiona are inevitable, and Frodo will play the tickle-me game called "boom-boom" with her every evening. He may also serenade her with his best rendition of "La Bamba." According to Sam, that should be enough to make her laugh, since everybody else does.
Everybody wants to be a comedian.