upstairs, downstairs

listen ... do you hear that? it's the sound of my hair coming out at the root by my own hand.

"c'mon," i said. "let's go downstairs for dinner." and she followed.

"c'mon," i said. "let's go outside." and she followed.

it was a miracle. that's right ... a miracle.

a month ago, the doorbell rang and chaos ensued. i don't know anyone who's ever gotten that excited about pizza, but zoey was. two steps down the case, she missed her footing and slid the rest of the way down with her poor little front legs sticking out in front of her. at the bottom, she slammed into the front door. [note: i've done a similar thing. it's painful, and i wasn't nearly as resilient.]

as you may imagine, my heart stopped ... and i'm pretty sure it stopped for a good three seconds. had i not been so worried about those poor little front legs, i would have been able to report what happens when we die. i apologize to all of humanity for this incredible disservice. the good news is, there was no breakage ... merely a small cut that was easily cleaned and no other damage. or so i thought.

fast forward three weeks.

having tried absolutely everything i could think of to get zoey to come down the stairs, a night in the kennel seems to have worked. no longer am i opening doors, putting on jackets and boots, carrying around leashes as i pretend to leave the house. the separation anxiety is there ... i gotta play all my cards. for a while pretending to take out the trash worked unbelievably easy ... all i had to do was open the trash can, shake the edge of the bag and slap a sneaker sole on the kitchen floor and she'd be down.

but now, she's back to just following me down, which is fabulous.

until this morning ... when she slipped on the last three stairs.

i don't want to go in that door. i really don't.