separation anxiety

I'm pretty sure separation anxiety is not exclusively a human issue. Miley sometimes exhibits separation anxiety rather acutely. My daughter told me that while I was gone, she would pounce on her whenever she figured out that she was about to dessert her. This pup is really a people person. (Another way to put it might be that she's just plain needy.)

The day after I came home from the miracle of the birth of my first granddaughter, I snapped this photo. I had just taken a shower. When I came out, I could hear Miley whining on the other side of the door. She hadn't done that since the days when she was brand new in our house. A few weeks after we brought her home, she figured out that I did actually reappear if she was just patient enough. Now usually after a shower, I find her on the other side of the door, curled up waiting patiently. So I thought we had this separation anxiety thing under control. But I guess since I desserted her for such a long time, it reared its ugly head again. I wonder if I should take her to a shrink or get her some medication. Anyway, I could see her little shadowy feet pacing and I could hear her whining. Finally she plopped down and started pawing under the door, reaching first with one paw, then the other. I talked to her; I touched her little paws, but apparently she just plain felt so vulnerable that I was going to disappear forever, that she was desperate for me to reappear. When I still didn't reappear, she released a final sound that resembled a human groan/whine and assumed this anxious position.

I feel compelled to explain why I had my camera in the bathroom. See, I had been walking around, scrolling through the pictures of my little grandbaby. (Maybe I was teary eyed. Wanna make something of it?) It was time to shower, so I kept right on walking and right on scrolling. Wait. I kept right on strolling and right on scrolling. Strolling and scrolling. (That's cool.) Then I stood in the bathroom and stared at my cute little baby, and finally released the camera so I could shower. Then when I came out . . . well, you've already read that paragraph.

I remember when my kids were little. Going to the bathroom and disappearing from their view was completelly unacceptable and triggered this same kind of anxiety response. I would often see little fingers under the door, trying in vain to reach me. "Mommy! Mommy!" Most of the time it was cute, but at times it was annoying. Can't a mom have two minutes to go to the bathroom? Now I confess that I miss those days, and I miss those little fingers under the bathroom door.

I guess paws and a puppy nose will have to do.