Resurrectionfeatured

The dachshunds never faltered once in their mission to keep me safe from SARS-CoV-2.  With my cardiovascular disease already present, Covid would kill me and the dachshunds trusted no one.  In the earliest days during April of 2020 when Jeremy came home with groceries I was banished to the other end of the house while everyone else scrubbed every item with antibacterial wipes and washed produce three separate times in the sink.  Johann Sebastian even ordered a Medify air purifier from a hospital supply catalog to fight the invisible threat.  Since dogs couldn’t contract the virus they processed everything that entered the house until we learned it was mainly the respiratory transmission we needed to worry about.

“Good,” muttered Gustav as they stuffed packages of wipes back in the laundry room cabinet.  “That took forever, wiping down every surface of everything that came in the house!”

“All we can do is the best we can do,” assured Johann.  “Besides, no one ever regretted going the extra mile for safety.”  “This is true,” Gustav admitted.  “I’m just glad we don’t have to do this anymore.  We still have another shipping box full of wipes, and another full Costco package of paper towels.”

“That is rather impressive considering how many times Mr. Parker has wiped down the kitchen and all the bathrooms….per day.”

“This is the cleanest house we’ve ever lived in…despite our best efforts,” replied Gustav.  “I’m still going to work on a portable force field to surround Mama with.”

Leafing through his latest copy of Scientific American (“Special Coverage: Coronavirus”) in the spring of 2021, Johann furrowed his eyebrows in concentration.  “If this thing is respiratory, then I’m going to need to order another air purifying device.  Maybe one for each room in the house is best.  The cost will be enormous, but I don’t see much of a choice.”

“We must protect Mama,” agreed Gustav.

The entire ordeal was serious enough to where Jeremy even opened his pocketbook without one complaint if there was a decent enough chance it would deter the virus.  My cardiologist took a pragmatic view.  He knew that my best course of action was to hang on long enough to be vaccinated.  With the laissez-faire attitude of the general public and the fact I couldn’t quit my job it would just be a matter of time until I was exposed.

With all the precautions I could take I managed to evade the virus until early January 2022. Finding a test over the counter at this time was next to impossible but I managed to get in at a clinic across town…that left me sitting in their parking lot for nearly an hour waiting to be tested before they finally got their sample and I crawled back home.

The dachshunds were sandwiched with me in bed when the lab called back later that afternoon to say I had indeed finally pulled positive for Covid-19.  Gasping in shock, Gustav and Johann clutched me on either side tightly upon hearing the news.  Johann was wiping away tears with one paw.  Despite reminding them (and myself) that I was as protected as you could possibly be they were inconsolable.

I was triple vaccinated and because of it I avoided becoming another statistic.  The dachshunds were taking no chances and I stayed under their close supervision.  I couldn’t get out of bed without having debilitating vertigo, easily confused and found it difficult to think clearly.  Jeremy would come in and speak to me and I couldn’t focus on what he was saying.  It felt like being in a fog that left me short of breath.  I started hearing strange, unexplained noises that startled me at all hours of the day and night–I was getting as bad as Bowie–I thought I heard a rustling in the shrubs outside, and when I moved the curtains to look out the window I could have sworn I saw a flash of white fur.  (The dachshunds initiated a search and found nothing.)  As the time passed Johann and Gustav took turns bringing me food they cooked like homemade chicken noodle soup, fresh bread and a really nice vanilla custard.

After about 4-5 days I was able to get out of bed and walk around without falling over.  Jeremy had gone to the grocery store to replenish supplies and I was alone in the house with dachshunds and Bowie.

The doorbell rang when I was combing my hair.  I was in my bathrobe, not really presentable for visitors and I ignored it.  Then it rang again.

I flipped my phone over and activated the Ring.  It looked like the front porch was empty, but then I could see what looked like the end of an extendable pointer reach up from the bottom of the frame, hit the Ring’s doorbell again, and then disappear from sight.

An uneasy feeling began to sink in.  Was this another mysterious delivery?  I never did approach Jeremy about the nameless Kendra Scott deliveries, or the Louis Vuitton Speedy.  I just couldn’t find a way to bring it up in conversation.  This was probably a very, very big mistake and I’d just gotten the horrible feeling that I’d run out of time.

As if in a dream I floated from the master bedroom down the hall, turned the corner, approached the front door, flipped the deadbolt, grasped the handle, pulled it open–on some deep level already knowing who would be waiting impatiently on the other side.

It was Aurora.

The Spoiled Spaniel herself, right before my eyes, wearing dark Chanel sunglasses and grasping the pointer in one hand, the handle of a large rolling suitcase with the other.  Her white fur that was soft as a cloud was so clean and bright it almost glowed in the sun.  Piled on the lawn behind her were more matching luggage pieces.  There were even two large steamer trunks in the driveway where the Challenger was normally parked.

I was vaguely aware of my mouth opening and closing in shock like a fish; she tucked the pointer under her arm like a swagger stick, breezed past me with her suitcase and strode triumphantly into the house declaring:

“Fools!  Morons!!  Imbeciles!!!  Lend me your ears.  It is I, Aurora–and I have returned!”