No doubt about it.  Over the last couple weeks, I have felt deeply in the throes of the dog days.

Mid-July through mid-August is traditionally the hottest, most humid time of year. Maybe Americans, strongly opposed to such discomfort, would naturally refer this condition as being only fit for dogs.

Astronomically, this is when Sirius, the dog star, rises in the night-time sky. For this reason, supposedly, ancient Romans referred to this period as the dog days, too.

For me, the past three weeks have been dog days for a different reason.

My furry sidekick and constant companion, India, injured herself, and all I have been able to think about is how to help her get better.

She tore her left hind cruciate ligament under circumstances that were neither violent nor heroic.  She was running downstairs for our regular late afternoon walk.

No mean neighbor threw a shovel at her for pooping on their prized peonies. She made no Lassie-like leap to push a child out of the way of a hurried Uber driver.

I heard her yelp from the landing below my unit (I live in a second floor condo in a three-story Chicago brick building).  When I caught up to her in the building’s front door hallway, bending over to put on her leash, I witnessed her refrain from putting weight on the leg.

The next day, I took her to the vet practice where we’ve been going since I adopted her in 2016.  She was weighed and examined.  I was told that she tore her cruciate and that it was not an uncommon injury for adult dogs.

The recommendations I received did not sit very well with me. Besides potentially requiring surgery, which I understood to be expensive, I left the office, not really knowing how to make things better.

They gave me some pain pills for India, told me to restrict her movement and diet (the less weight she tries to put on her affected leg, the better), and they told me to bring her back in two weeks.

I called back for some additional advice and talked to some dog experts I knew. Before the week was out, I made an appointment with a second vet.

It’s not that I expected the diagnosis to change. I was looking for more guidance on what I could do – at least – to keep things from getting worse.

This other vet provided a lot more information on the injury and reasonable actions I could take to support her healing.  I was told that scar tissue could form if she’s really still, preventing her bones from sliding around.  I was told that stairs and jumping on or off furniture would be the worst.

She never liked to be carried and, not really good with my own balance, I didn’t like to carry her either, but…  I vowed to stop leading her downstairs for walks and tried to train her to pee on pads I set up in our dining room.  I did everything advised in the YouTube video, but she wouldn’t pee inside.

I put a couple drops of my own urine on the white square  (My own idea. I couldn’t imagine asking a neighbor if I could borrow a cup of urine from their pet as if I needed a common ingredient for a recipe even though the scent of a spaniel might be more compelling).

I lugged a piece of sod I bought at Home Depot up to the back deck so she could pee outside and still could avoid the dreaded stairs. But no —

I had a session with a pet communicator who provided some details on what I was intuitively aware of.  India feels it’s her job to protect me as much as I feel it’s my job to protect her.  The more she roamed around our home with a limp, the more I worried.  The more I worried, the more she felt she had to follow me to make sure I was okay.

I tried talking to her myself.  Sitting on the toilet one morning after she followed me in to the bathroom, I put on a smile as I told her, “See, I pee in the house.  How bad can it be?”

Some of my friends reminded me that I needed to be the alpha dog in our household. Certainly, I understood that she would respond to my firmness and confidence, but we have had a relationship that involved negotiation and accommodation.  When we’ve had a clash of wills, we found ways to work things out.  I couldn’t imagine not having some back and forth with her.

I have imposed some discipline.  I have taken things (like chicken bones or napkins) found on walks out of her mouth.  With the exception of my bed, she doesn’t get on the furniture. Ever.

But I couldn’t get her to pee indoors.

I have been on the verge of tears for the better part of this time.  I considered that I am a bad dog mother.  I wondered, How do parents handle this?  This feeling that they are not doing a good job at the most important role they’ll ever have?

After India hadn’t peed for three days, I called up my new vet.  They suggested I buy a cone for her and put in on her so, without possibly biting anyone, it would be easier to take her down stairs for short walks outside.

This seemed like a good compromise.  She’d have to submit to being carried. And she could still have something she felt important to her — a few minutes outside – to pee by a familiar tree.

For the last few days, wearing her blue, “calming” cone, two of my building neighbors have taken turns to help take her up and down stairs.  Sometimes, I have carried her, although I am only able to carry her with one arm as my other arm holds on to the bannister.

I bought an indoor pen from Amazon and make her stay there most of the day (where she can keep watch over me).

I don’t know what we’ll have to do, ultimately, for the injury, but I can see that I’ve had to go through negotiation, accommodation, and acceptance to forgiveness – forgiving myself.  I’ve done the best I could.

Forgiving yourself for not successfully training your dog to use a pee pad is no small thing.