Spirit Matters: Don’t feed the animals

I am getting a late start today.

I have spent the first three hours of my morning hosing down the bedding from my dog Zeke’s crate and trying to figure out how I am going to ever repay my long-suffering saint of a husband. GOD BLESS HIS SOUL.

Zeke had a little accident last night.

From what Saint Husband tells me, he has been awake since 1:15 this morning, dragging all of Zeke’s diarrhea-covered bedding (I will spare you the details) outside, cleaning up the part that leaked onto our brand-new bedroom carpeting, and sitting with Zeke in our office the rest of the night until Saint Husband had to leave for work at 4:30 this morning. (FYI ... he is going to stop at the store on his way home from work, and pick up a big bottle of bleach).

And I, being the oblivious melatonin-aided sound sleeper I am, slept through it all. Just for a little context, I also once slept through a middle-of-the-night fire at a nearby home. Then, I doubled over in laughter as my husband told me about the fire engine’s obnoxious horn and the flood lights involved, and how I could possibly sleep through it.

I am not laughing this morning.

Did I mention my husband is a saint?

When I said I would spare you the details, I meant it.

But I will tell you this.

As I sprayed everything off this morning, I noticed two small round balls – I’m pretty sure they are baby potatoes. I can only guess some of the other unidentifiable solid material could be some onion skins.

We do not have either of these vegetables in our home, so I am guessing Zeke got into them at my mom’s (Grandma’s) house yesterday when he was there for a few hours.

I mean, you can’t blame him.

He was desperate.

Earlier this week he was at his Grandma’s house, and since no one was home, and he was hungry, he thought he would try to feed himself.

So he climbed on my mom’s buffet and knocked over the bucket his food is kept in, and ate what was remaining. When my brother stopped by, he texted me and asked me why his food bucket was on the floor.

I’m thinking for how well he knows Zeke, does he even need to ask? Zeke does, after all, have a habit of getting into whatever is on the counter that has not been safely put away from his “dumpster-diving” paws.

My instructions to my brother: Don’t give him anymore!

Saint Husband and I spent the next few days taking Zeke for multiple walks so he could rid himself of the after effects of his sumptuous feast.

So, when I dropped Zeke off at my mom’s yesterday, I took a plastic baggie with a half cup of his food – enough to get him through until I picked him up. If he got really hungry, he could have an apple, which is his favorite snack.

My hunch is that with nothing else appetizing in sight, he ate some potatoes and possibly an onion that my mom has kept in the kitchen in a basket for as long as I can remember. A basket that has been there all of the years Zeke and I lived there, and he has never before gotten into.

Anyway, all of this is getting old.

Just a few weeks ago, he managed to capture a baby bunny at Grandma’s house, and since his old Labrador stomach isn’t made of iron anymore, we went through a similar, but more grotesque, process as we did when he got into his food bucket earlier this week.

As I write this, Zeke is sleeping soundly on his plush purple pillow we got from some high school friends of mine as a wedding gift.

And I’m doing some grounding meditation – feet firmly on the floor, deep breaths in and out, “dark academia” music playing on YouTube, while it is appropriately dark and raining outside.

Saint Husband and I are barreling down on our heretofore somewhat liberal snack policy for Zeke. Read: No more people food. From anyone, anywhere. Zero. Zip. Zilch.

Your thoughts and prayers are warmly appreciated.

We are going to need them.

SPIRIT MATTERS is a weekly column that examines experiences common to the human spirit. Contact Jerrilyn Zavada Novak at jzblue33@yahoo.com to share how you engage your spirit in your life and community.