Oma is sitting on the sofa chewing on bread. Dog is sitting beside her rolling her tongue around her snout to lap up any remaining crumbs. Oma and Dog are sharing bread. There is something really good about this scene. And something bad.
The fact that Dog is sitting with Oma shows the transforming power of forgiveness. It is not just the promise of food that is keeping the ageing staffy on the sofa with the demented old lady — the dog is not that shallow. Dog is practising acceptance and forgiveness. She has forgiven Oma for being a mean old crone.
The fact that Oma is sitting with Dog shows that it is possible to bulldoze new thinking patterns into a brain with dementia. She is practising liking and accepting dogs. She has forgiven Dog for being a dog.
Not so long ago Dog would not get out of the car when we pulled up in Oma’s Wodonga driveway. Six to seven hours on the road involves several pit stops, and at each, the dog would be busting to get out. There would be claw marks on the window and a lot of whining.
On this occasion, it was dark when we got to Wodonga and Dog had no idea where we were but was happy enough to get out — until Oma trotted down the path.
I was unpacking, so one of the car doors was open. Dog saw Oma and hopped back in the car and huddled against the closed back door, hiding her face with her paws. You could almost hear the ‘‘no way, there is no way I am ever entering that house again’’. I opened the back door to get Dog out and she jumped into the front driver’s seat as if to say ‘‘if you won’t drive me home I’ll do it myself’’’.
It took a fat sausage to eventually entice Dog out of the car. This has happened at least twice and I have witnesses to prove that I am not making this up.
Dog held a grudge because she was not allowed in the house. She was forced to sleep in the laundry and spend her days hanging around the back door pleading to be let in. Winters are bitterly cold in north-east Victoria and Dog is accustomed to lying in front of a heater or on a soft sofa.
If anyone tried to sneak the dog in when Oma wasn’t looking, they would be reduced to cinders by her Blast From Hell voice. Fleas! Disease! Never in my house! If you don’t like my rules you and the dog can leave! As the local motel didn’t take in dogs either, Dog was forced back outside where its grudge grew.
Things were tense between the two when Oma came to live with us. Things were tense between the three of us. Dog was regularly locked outside and I was shouting loudly at the demented one’s meanness.
Then I hit upon a process of brainwashing. I am going to work now, I say, but the dog will keep you company and look after you. I brainwash at every opportunity — I enforce the message when we are walking to the shops and when we are watching TV. The dog wants to be your friend, she wants to sit with you, I drone on as brightly as I can given that I’m as resentful as hell on the dog’s behalf. I ring during the day to ask about the dog. Where is the dog now? Are you sure she is on the sofa? Go and sit with her and give her a pat.
I get Oma to hold the lead for a bit when we go for a walk. Oma looks scared and the dog tries to take off. I notice Oma’s very tentative attempt to pat the dog who glares at her and slinks off.
Eventually a truce seems to establish itself. I get the feeling that Oma likes the dog’s warmth. The dog is so warm, she says with wonder and surprise. She has probably expected the slippery coldness of a snail. Perhaps she has never touched an animal for fear of getting dirty. She’s always quoting her Germanic control freak grandmother who liked her floors so clean that ‘‘you could eat off them’’. I can see where she is coming from. No one likes to eat dog hair off the floor.
The downside of the establishment of relations between Dog and Oma is that the emerging friendship has overridden the previous conditioning I had worked hard to establish. Do not feed the dog. Dog, allergic to grain and meat, needs an expensive fish-based diet. As she is sharing Oma’s bread, she is scratching furiously at her neck which is beginning to bleed.
Also, the bread is a $8 a loaf sourdough from an artisan baker
