Oogy_ The Dog Only a Family Could Love - Larry Levin [50]
Late in the afternoon of the next day, the surgeon called to let me know everything had gone well. The hospital kept Oogy another two days for observation. After twenty-four hours, however, I was allowed to come for a short visit. I went into one of the examination rooms, and after a few minutes Oogy came hobbling out, wearing another E-collar. I sat next to him on the floor — I always feel more comfortable in such moments if I am on his level — and he put his head in my lap. I fought back tears, I felt so bad for him. It just seemed never to end. A jagged pink scar ran several inches down the outside of his right leg, held together by a number of tiny black stitches. I wanted Oogy to think of better things; I wanted to soothe him. I tried to think of songs, but I forgot the words to everything. Then I started to softly speak some of the words of a poem that inexplicably popped into my head, one an old friend had recited to win a contest back in sixth grade. It was rhythmic, and though I could remember only the first of the verses, as I started to speak, Oogy’s tail began to wag. I repeated the lines several times. Maybe it was simply the tone of my voice, but it really seemed to relax him.
I hated the drive home that afternoon.
When I returned to pick him up the next day, I was told to keep him sedated and give him some painkillers for the next week. The surgeon also told me that Oogy was allowed very limited exercise, several walks a day in the yard and always on a leash. There was to be no running, jumping, or climbing, and I was to confine him in the house to a six-foot-by-ten-foot room for the next two to three months.
“There’s no way that’ll happen,” I told the doctor. “He’ll shred the door.”
“Well,” the doctor said, “do the best you can.”
I set Oogy up in the dining room. The sun streamed through the glass wall, which made the room nice and warm, just the way he liked it. His favorite chair (which had actually become so covered with Oogy fur that it even looked like him) was in there. I closed the doors leading to the hallway. I brought in his water dish; I also brought in his bone blanket, spread it over the rug, and laid a bone on top of it for him. I made sure he was comfortable. Then I looked at the swinging door leading to the kitchen, trying to figure out what I could place against it that would prevent him from pushing it open. That’s when it dawned on me that he might try to push against it if he felt he could move it at all, which might lead to more problems than it prevented. Since it was a swinging door, I’d have to effectively block both sides lest he try to pull it open from the dining room. So I figured, Okay, he can access the kitchen, too, and I left that door open and closed the door leading from the kitchen into the hallway. Then I said good-bye and went to the office for a few hours.
When I returned home, I found Oogy sleeping on the dining room table.
The boys were away at camp for the rest of that week. Night came, and Jennifer eventually went up to bed. Earlier that evening, I had cut a piece of plywood the width of the stairs. I slid this into place between two of the banister newels to block Oogy’s access to the second floor and followed Jennifer upstairs. No sooner had I climbed into bed than I heard Oogy’s whine, followed quickly by a crashing noise. Within seconds, Oogy was standing next to the bed, wagging his tail and asking for attention. He had leapt over the plywood barrier. It was apparent that the