People At A Coffee Shop

There are dogs bred to herd sheep and steers. Enzo isn’t one of them.

And there are dogs that assist the sight-impaired. That’s not Enzo either.

Certain breeds flush game from tall grass but Enzo does not hunt, pull sleds, sniff out contraband or repel intruders.

The two and one-half year-old spent 10 days waiting to be adopted. He was withdrawn, mistrustful and desperately in need of a haircut.

Joanna and Peter drove two hundred miles during one of the meanest days in many years (-20°) bent on adopting a dog that same day. Too soon for a new mutt? Joanna was confident that her Jude would have understood.

The shelter’s app listed three dogs that might work given their apartment and their allergies. The least promising, the only one left when the couple arrived, had been written up for urinating and nipping. Patience was advised.

Enzo inspected every inch of the living room at the Mulder-Baker household before sequestering himself there. Its couch revealed truths about the late Jude that only another dog could understand. It was reassuring.

Enzo feared the hallway leading to the rest of the place. Something in its closet made noise and caused heat to fall from the ceiling. But the kitchen and its activities called and eventually Enzo allowed himself the run of the place. Once on the bed he inched his way toward nighttime contact.

Because he’s skin and bones, Peter and Joanna feed him canned food. They agreed they wouldn’t repeat the table scraps mistake they’d made with Jude. Maybe the squeaker toys Peter brought home would compensate.

Ezno is taken out three times a day. Joanna does the a.m. and Peter the p.m. Midday is a toss-up.

It’s not unusual to see the writer of long-form articles in the New York Times, The New Yorker and The Guardian — one well along on an anticipated novel — abandon his work in a window at our coffee shop to show his new dog the neighborhood.

We tend to think of shelters as places we humans go to rescue animals. And that’s true as far as it goes but more often than not, the rescues that take place go in both directions.

You will be spending the night with Liza Jean.

You’ve already had quite a day.

Some sort of medical thing has been addressed by a surgical team. Something was implanted or shifted or removed. Things monitored and modulated.

Thanks to the anesthesiologist whose team kept asking your date of birth, you’ll awake in a room equipped to receive you.

Liza Jean Baker is a bedside nurse in a post-op surgical unit. She works the Dracula shift, 7 pm to 7 am, Friday and Saturday nights. She visited us at our coffee shop recently.

Her job is one of the most demanding in nursing. She wrestles with swelling, bloating, stomach gas, nausea and people experiencing acute pain for the first time. She learned about post-surgery pain firsthand when her wisdom teeth were removed.

Liza Jean Baker hadn’t planned to spend weekend nights on a post-op floor. But those particular hours pay a premium which helps with student loans. She maintained 3.98 GPA while earning her BSN and submitted 102 applications before going to work.

Sleeping gets turned upside down, of course. Liza Jean says she eats her way through her night shift and follows with a good breakfast. Then she sleeps. Socializing can be a bit complicated.

Her father, an orthopedic surgeon, discouraged the pursuit of medicine, demands outweighing rewards and all that.

But her mother, a career pediatric nurse, whispered into her other ear. It wasn’t until her mother stopped encouraging her that Liza Jean took the step. Now the nursing profession is a bond between them.

Medical technology will give Liza Jean real-time readouts as you are stabilizing throughout the night. Just as important, she’ll lean in to fuss over you and to ask if you need help with pain, and if you might like to sit up for a while.