CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Meltdown

EXHAUSTED BUT ALSO RELIEVED TO BE LEAVING THE HOSPITAL, I embarked on the forty-five-minute drive to doggy day care to pick up Leaf. Bumper-to-bumper rush-hour traffic bombarded me with truck fumes, impatient drivers honking horns, and people swerving from lane to lane. The bright sun reflected off car windows. What I had just been through at the hospital suddenly caught up with me, and I began to feel weak and a bit shaky.

I managed to get to the doggy-day-care facility just minutes before it closed. After I snapped his leash on, Leaf wiggled and gave a squeak of excitement. He pulled at me to take him home and feed him dinner.

On the ride home a white van swerved and stopped suddenly in front of my car. I quickly slammed on the brakes. Leaf balanced himself on the backseat. Bright sunlight bounced directly off the rear of the van. My head throbbed. I thought for a moment I might lose consciousness.

Leaf watched me from the backseat as I pounded my fists on the steering wheel. I gave no thought about how terrified Leaf must have felt. I wanted to go home. I wanted to sleep. Desperate to escape from the grating noise, harsh light, and chaos, I needed to find a deep, dark hole in which to bury myself.

Leaf quickly jumped into the front seat. He looked at me with such concern that my anger subsided. With what can only be called the intense calmness a grown-up might use to subdue a child’s temper tantrum, he gently and thoroughly licked my cheek.

Despite his own anxiety about people who had mistreated him in the past, he didn’t cower in the backseat. Instead, he focused entirely on me. His soothing, rhythmic licks and the cool moisture of his tongue on my face settled my emotions. I felt my irrational fury dissipate.

It was as if in that instant Leaf made a full commitment to being my friend. No matter what. No matter how nuts I might act. No matter how much he wanted to run, hide, or protect himself, he would be there for me.

The white van finally started moving again. I followed it and saw that the driver had merely stopped at a red light. His vehicle had inadvertently reflected the sun’s rays into my eyes. I felt embarrassed at my outburst. What was wrong? This was not the real me. I thought of my father’s crazy rants after his stroke. Had my frontal lobe been so damaged that I’d never have control over my emotions again?

For the rest of the ride home, my brave, loving dog intermittently licked my cheek.

When we got home, I fed Leaf extra food and treats. He looked worn out from all the physical exercise of his day of play. It must have depleted whatever reserves he had drawn upon to deal with my emotions.

I was ready to zonk out with pain pills. We both went directly to our beds and immediately fell into a deep sleep.

The next day we drove to the cottage so Leaf and I could bring Linda home. While playing the score to the musical Les Misérables, tears sprung to my eyes. The songs about loss and unrelenting burdens brought my buried sadness to the surface.

But Leaf, my master strategist, seemed to be figuring out how to pull me out of my self-induced melancholy. Even though we had only been to the cottage together once to drop off Linda, my intelligent little pup remembered the places at which we’d stopped along the way. As we approached these spots again, he wagged his tail and bounced excitedly from window to window.

I took cues from my canine GPS and pulled over at each rest stop. As soon as the leash was snapped onto his collar, he hopped out of the car. With determination, he looked around for potential playmates. He left his mark on appropriate trees with whatever messages dogs give to one another. Watching him do his Leaf thing restored me to the safe haven of his favorite word, normal. After the last rest stop, I drove on to the cottage, and Leaf fell asleep in the backseat.

While Linda had been away, Leaf woke up often and was fretful during the nights of her absence. When he saw her again, his stumpy little tail wagged in swirling circles. He greeted her with a torrent of kisses. I did too. I needed my wife. I needed Leaf. And we all needed each other if I was going to make it past the craters on my road to a full recovery.