A Brief Struggle

I’ve been getting up a bit earlier lately. I take my pill at 8:00 and, working backward from there, I walk the dogs at 7:30 and get out of bed at 7:15. It seems to be working out just fine. Or nearly.

This morning, as I walked the dogs around the block, a delivery truck pulled up and two men got out. The delivery was not for me; it was not even on our street. But the dogs went mental. They began pulling on their leashes and lunging at the men and barking. It took all my strength to hold them back and to drag the two frantic dogs away. When they calmed down, I resumed my journey. I hadn’t taken three steps then, when my legs stopped. They just stopped. I was utterly and absolutely exhausted. I was unable to take even one more step. As I stood there motionless with my chin on my chest, a neighbour approached with her dog.

“Hi Dale. It’s Mel. I’m coming up behind you. Are you alright?”

Mel and Lyle waited a moment while I recovered and then Mel took Maisy’s leash and walked home with Percy and me. It was kind of her, and I thanked her for her concern. I was using my oxygen and the dial was set to number 6, the penultimate setting. But even that wasn’t enough. I was totally knackered by my brief struggle with the dogs. It doesn’t seem to take much exertion these days to deplete my store of oxygen. Thank goodness I had my portable supply. I shudder to think what it might have been like without it.

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