Tuesday

There was no early-morning call from the nurses caring for Lesley’s dad. No WhatsApp waiting for Lesley from her sister. He must still be fighting. That meant another day with a sombre, silent breakfast before Lesley headed off to sit by his bedside until she couldn’t stand it any longer.

The Dog saw the signs. She knew this would be another day where Lesley would get all stressed and flustered, rush out of the house, stay out far too long and return stressed and exhausted.

She doesn’t like it.

Until today, The Dog had taken the signs that I was getting ready to take her out for a walk as an indication that we were going to rescue Lesley and we would head for the railway station. Once she’d satisfied herself that there was no trace of her there we would carry on for an epic walk.

On Saturday, the walk had been an extended effort. We’d done a circuit of the lake at the nature reserve and then The Dog gave her signature “Can we go this way?” look over her shoulder as we passed the end of the path along the river. I let her choose the route for her walk until we got to a section that was still too flooded.

Sunday’s walk was slightly different. A short, local one in preparation for a trip out in the car. Lesley asked for some bits to be brought from home. Bits that she’d forgotten in her rush to leave. Bits that included my electric razor. Dad wouldn’t or couldn’t keep still long enough for a carer to give him his usual wet shave and he was getting a bit shaggy.

On Monday, the walk had been an unusual one. The Dog had chosen a route that would take us to the village where Mum’s last but one nursing home had been. That had to be abandoned when we got to another flooded section. Instead of turning round and going back the way we’d come I turned away from our village. I thought we could take an alternative way to the middle of Saturday’s walk. We haven’t walked that way before. The Dog wasn’t sure but she went along with it. It was a nice spring day. The air was cold but the sun was warm. Not so warm to be too warm for The Dog but pleasant. The traffic on the first bit was heavy but not so heavy as to upset The Dog. But she was really panting. The panting and pulling didn’t stop when we got off the main road.

“Are you alright?”

She answered with a pitiful look at me. Doleful eyes and ears pinned back. I offered a few treats but she didn’t take all of them. The panting must have been an anxiety attack.

She picked up when we got to an area she knew. She went potty. Chased the geese in the field, jumped in the river, rolled in all the horse droppings that I managed to stop her eating.

Over the past few days I’d noticed how each day it was taking longer and longer for her to cheer up on our walk. What I hadn’t noticed was how low she was as we set out.

Until today.

The Dog was really reluctant to go out. Instead of dragging me to the railway station to rescue Lesley she headed the other way on a route that we regularly used when we first got her. She was hesitant. She’d stop and think about which way to go and end up not wanting to go anywhere. After so many unsuccessful searches for Lesley at the station she didn’t know where to try next. We were out almost as long as we’d been on the epic walks but instead of me doing 12 to 15,000 steps I barely managed 3,000.

We went home and while The Dog slept in the sunshine I tried, and failed totally, to get stuff done. I’m getting less and less done. I’ve got mounting paperwork to deal with for my Mum’s estate, I’ve still not been able to find the copy of Mum’s will that I was sure I had, I’ve got tax year-end stuff to do for myself and I’m doing secretarial tasks for Lesley as her power of attorney for her dad will expire when he does.

I’d blamed Sunday’s failure to achieve anything on the disruption caused by an unplanned journey to Lesley’s dad’s nursing home. Today I realised that no such disruption was necessary. I could completely fail to anything without any help from anyone else. Today, I gave in to the weariness and had a nap for the first time in I don’t know how long.

I did a quick checklist of symptoms: procrastination, sleeping during the day, not eating or drinking properly. I noted how odd things had impacted my mood. Things like finding dead wildlife on our walks. On Saturday we found a recently deceased Mink on the riverbank. Yesterday. I found a beautiful young Barn Owl that had flown into a hedgerow and got caught in the fork of two branches which broke its neck. Today, I swore at another dog owner for failing to give The Dog enough room as we passed when she was clearly so anxious.

All these score highly on my Key Depression Indicators.

This morning I had thought that The Dog was depressed because Lesley is clearly stressed and out so much.

This afternoon I realised that The Dog’s apparent depression may well be just a mirror image of mine.

Bloody hell.

Author’s Note

My Mum was in a nursing home in the Thames Valley for a year and a half until she passed away in December 2024. My Father-in-law went into the same home the following January. But Lesley’s sister didn’t approve and made the situation so awkward that he had to be moved. The image is not of the home itself. I used AI to generate an image of a typical modern nursing home. Names and locations have been changed or hidden to protect the identities of those involved. Which, for the new home, is probably just as well.