Django

30 Days in Istanbul: Day 7

I went out for dinner alone last night.

Despite all my rambling on about the glory of solo travel, I sometimes still get intimidated, doing that. I think people will judge me, or feel sorry for me, especially here, a country where socializing is the national sport. But I knew I had to get over myself, and also, there was a taco restaurant up the street. Tacos are not a thing in Fethiye.

The food was incredible. The restaurant owners started chatting with me, and I told them I had come from Fethiye to see what living in Istanbul would be like, and they laughed and said they have been thinking about seeing what living in Fethiye would be like. It was one of those nights of being smacked with a wave of how grateful I felt for this gift, just right now, because anything can happen tomorrow. I leaned back in my chair with happiness, noticing just in time that there was a cactus behind me. 

I can’t believe you’re not giving me any of that.

The next morning, Django was really sick.

I won’t go into detail (tacos were not involved), but it was not good, and that was on top of it having been not good on and off for some time. I’d already made a vet appointment, thankfully, so we headed over. The vet, a large, jovial man, said that he suspected it was parasites. They brought us into the exam room, and two vet techs and the vet all held my dog down quite roughly so they could take blood from the inside of his leg. He was not pleased about this in the least, and neither was I. But I stayed quiet and tried to trust what was going on, and they put his blood in a machine which told us that the red and white blood cell and leukocyte counts were high. Very like parasites, the vet confirmed, and definitely a gastrointestinal issue. I really, desperately hope he’s right.

They gave Django some fluids through an IV, which made him swollen and puffy on his right shoulder. We got some antibiotics, some medicine for his stomach, some probiotics, and some special food. The vet said I could message him with any questions, and I was so flustered that we left and just started walking towards home, even though it was pouring rain. We turned a corner and a large black dog lunged at us out of nowhere, snarling and chasing Django around my legs as his owner yelled and tried to pull him away and I yelled and tried to block him. It was probably 15 seconds but it felt like an hour, and finally the owner got his dog down, and Django shook his body out and was fine, and we turned another corner and I crouched down on the sidewalk, holding my giant bag of dog food and pills, apologizing to him and crying. 

We stopped for breakfast at a little cafe.

A cat greeted us, and Django started barking madly, which he never does with cats. I got out his new food but the cat really wanted in on that action, so I put Django in my lap, where he growled and made boofing noises at everyone who passed, and I hand-fed him, like the exact kind of person we would all roll our eyes about.

I’m aware of how privileged it is to worry this much about a dog. I’m aware also of the stereotyping and societal pigeonholing of single women without children and their pets. Mostly, I’m aware that he’s my best friend. My actual ride or die. The love I have for him is indescribable, and it’s awful to see him suffer, and unimaginable to think about losing him. My dog Ruble died almost exactly 5 years ago. The thought of experiencing that again is too much. 

He felt better this morning. I also found his antibiotic pill that I thought he’d taken last night on the kitchen rug. He’s curled up in the couch next to me, sleeping. Keeping guard, as always, like the pitbull he thinks he is.