Bummer! — What I Learned About Not Taking Responsibility for Everyone’s Problems

I learned something new.

Recently, Otis, the dog I sometimes dog-sit, came to stay with me.

I had signed up with a website specifically for older people who no longer want to get a dog of their own because they might not outlive the poor thing, but who would still love to enjoy the company of a dog. (Dogs are companion animals, after all. It says so right there in their passports. 😉) As soon as I reached the required age to join, I signed up. You have to be at least 55.

I’m telling you all this purely as a funny anecdote, because I don’t (yet) feel that old. And I certainly don’t consider myself too old to get a dog. But as you know, my circumstances aren’t exactly conducive to having one. I split my time between Amsterdam and Palermo. And I live on a small budget. If money were no object, I might very well get a dog. A small one, though, one that could travel in the cabin. Because constantly flying back and forth with a dog in a carrier in the cargo hold is simply no good—for the animal or for its owner.

Anyway, since my circumstances don’t allow me to have a dog of my own, I offered myself as a dog sitter instead. Because not only do I enjoy the company of a little dog, I also enjoy the benefits that come with being a dog owner compared with being a dogless person. You have to take the dog out at least three times a day, and that gets you exercise, fresh air, sunlight, and the occasional pleasant chat with other dog owners.

Anyway, Otis came to stay.

Sometimes he comes for just a day, but these days he often stays for several days at a time, sometimes for as long as two weeks. Here’s why: Otis’s family—his dad, mom, and their daughter—are tied to the school vacation schedule whenever they go away, because their daughter is still a minor. And during the school vacations, I’m usually in Amsterdam. So Otis often ends up staying with me.

Which is actually quite nice, because Otis and I are gradually building a bond. Little by little, he’s becoming more expressive (or am I simply getting better at reading him?), and he’s increasingly making himself at home with me.

The last time he came to stay, they dropped him off with a sore paw. Otis felt very vulnerable and crawled right up against me, looking for protection and safety. “My husband took him running this morning and Otis hurt his paw,” his mom explained.

I’ve had dogs myself in the past, and they used to have little mishaps like that, too. So I wasn’t worried. I assumed it would be fine later that day, or at the very latest the next day. After all, that’s how it had always gone with the dogs I’d had.

The following evening, his mom sent me a WhatsApp message from wherever they were vacationing.

“How’s Otis’s paw doing?” she asked.

I explained that he still hadn’t recovered. (Which I found rather remarkable and which was starting to worry me a little, but I didn’t mention that.) I wrote that Otis was still curled up against me all day like a little caterpillar, that he was barely eating, that he would come outside with me—obviously to do his business—but didn’t want to play with his ball (normally his absolute favorite thing in the world), didn’t want to play with other dogs, and acted very insecure around big dogs.

Normally, when I come home from grocery shopping and Otis has been home alone for a little while, he literally jumps for joy. Otis can’t be alone, you see. But now? He wanted to jump for joy, but he couldn’t get off the ground.

And now we get to it: his mom’s response to my detailed report about Otis’s paw. Do you know what she texted back?

Pay attention…

“Bummer!”

To be fair, she did add: “I hope it gets better soon.”

But… Bummer?!

I thought: I have to remember that one.

I’m the kind of person who, in a situation like this, would feel very responsible and then feel obliged to come up with solutions—or at least suggestions for solutions.

I would probably have said something like: “Maybe give it one more day and see how it goes. But if it gets really bad before then, if you think he’s actually in pain, or if it’s still not better after that extra day, go ahead and take him to the vet. And let me know how much it costs, and I’ll transfer the money to you right away.”

But…

Next time someone brings me a problem—one that, essentially, concerns me too—but doesn’t explicitly ask me for a solution, I now know how I can, at least for the time being, rid myself of that overwhelming sense of responsibility.

I’ll simply say:

“Bummer!” 😉

As for Otis’s paw, by the way, it got better on its own a day or two later. 

Photo: Kevin Turcios