Our dog, Maisie, is six-years-old and a very good girl, although if I could pinpoint one issue, it would be a general sense of anxiety. And you can’t blame her. Part hound, part collie, part a bunch of other breeds - a mix that no doubt instilled in her the need to work, and herd and return the tennis ball to the individual who threw it without fail until eternity - she takes her tasks as well as her play very seriously, to a degree one could classify as: a little much. Every night, Maisie waits for each member of the family to make their way up the stairs and into bed. If I linger, doing the dishes or listening to a podcast in the kitchen longer than usual, she stands several feet away, both forlorn and relentless, her head low, her eyes beseeching: “What are you doing? What are you doing? Get in your bed so that I can close up shop.”

She is a rule follower and a lover of routine. So, it was of particular concern to us when, a few times during the pandemic, and more regularly recently, she began having accidents in the house every now and then, something she hadn’t done since puppyhood and barely even then.

It was of concern and, I must admit, infuriating to me because - lover of dogs that I am - I have very little patience for this particular sin. But right away, I knew what was causing it: the same thing that has caused so many of our recent woes and that is the upheaval and readjustment period of these recent years. Maisie, I was sure, once used to the comings and goings of our busy family, was jostled by our attempted return to normal. She was suffering from separation anxiety, her accidents happening when we were out, or during the bustle just before we’d leave, when she’d frantically run up and down the stairs, unsure, it seemed, whether to secure herself in the safe haven of Gabe’s room, where she sleeps, or attempt to throw her body through the screen door and get in the minivan, eyes wild, tail wagging, insistent that she not be left behind.

I knew what to do; how to initiate a multi-faceted approach. Enough exercise, being put in her crate while we were out (which is where she goes anyway, just not with the door closed) with a bone or peanut butter filled Kong toy to soothe her, perhaps a few extra doggie daycare dates. After awhile, I hoped, she’d return to her former sense of, well, not calm, never calm, but calmer than this.

That’s the approach we’ve been taking, and it’s been a success so far. I mentioned the issue to her vet during our yearly checkup, as well, who recommended a brand of CBD supplements for dogs. Despite the fact that typing “CBD supplements for dogs” makes me question our current world, in all its absurdity, we are going to try that too.

Besides the fact that she truly deserves all the help she can get during this time of transition - after all, she’s suffered through many a night watching in disbelief as J and I decide to watch a show downstairs after the kids are asleep, prolonging our getting in bed and her assuredness that all is right with the world by one or even two hours - her recent regression has reminded me of the feats we’ve all overcome, are overcoming, and a thought I’ve been having, my sweet dog at my side, her soft ears on alert for the jangling of the car keys: it feels so very good to remind ourselves that we are “getting back to normal,” but perhaps the kinder option is to throw our hands up and laugh. To admit that we’ll never be normal again.