Renting an Apartment for Brenda

Because three people and three dogs (one of whom is uncomfortable around men she doesn’t know and another who is downright dangerous) would have been a very tight squeeze in my tiny apartment, I made other arrangements for Brenda when my dad visited for a week last month.

The other arrangement was renting a vacant apartment on the second floor of our building in order for Belisa to stay there with Brenda. Ben and I had also already talked to the landlord and told him we were interested in taking over the lease. Living in a fifth-floor walkup was getting a little old for me, and even though it meant paying more rent, I envisioned a more stress-free life closer to street level.

On the night of my dad’s arrival, his plane was delayed, which put his arrival time at around the same as Belisa’s. She was flying into the same airport from Seattle, where she was not only staying for the last two weeks, but where she had fallen down a flight a stairs and fractured her ankle (a diagnosis that would take two more weeks of hobbling around on a swollen and black-and-blue leg to get!)

In my haste to pick them up, I thought that both my dad and Belisa were arriving within minutes of each other and into the same terminal. In fact, Belisa arrived hours earlier and was waiting for us in one terminal while I was fetching my dad in another. Her phone died as we were giving each other distinguishing landmarks to meet by, both still thinking we were in the same building. The second time she borrowed a phone from a stranger, I asked where she was. We drove to pick her up.

At this point it’s 2am, and all three dogs are sleeping in my apartment. The plan was for Ben and dad to find a parking space while Belisa and I transported Brenda downstairs. The guys found a parking spot much quicker than we could get the dog out the door so I just picked Brenda up (monkey style) and shuffled her past them in the hallway. Belisa was in tow with the huge, unwieldy crate. Since she was walking on a bum leg, we traded cargo and as Brenda and I shuffled past each door, Belisa knocked an edge of the crate into it.

When we finally made it downstairs (and successfully woke up all the resident dogs on our way), we assessed B & B’s new digs. I had brought essentials down earlier that day, like toilet paper, a bath mat, a towel and some camping sleeping pads and sleeping bags but it seemed so dreary and depressing in the middle of the night. By chance, in addition to a weird rod that was hanging across the entire middle room up near the ceiling and a horrible yellowish paint job, the previous tenants left a loveseat. It was up on its side, so we decided to set it on all fours. The instant I grabbed one of the legs my hand slid off and on my palm was a smear of Vaseline jelly—a deterrent to bed bugs I guessed. We chose to ignore that small disgusting detail and explored the abandoned furniture. It was a foldout loveseat, and it looked clean enough, so stayed pulled out in the middle of the room with unfitted sheets for the rest of the week.

Since I was busy with my dad and Belisa was injured, Brenda did not get much exercise that week, and she was not happy to be left alone in an unfurnished apartment. It was nobody’s home and she knew it. No amount of Benadryl, bully sticks or marrow bones kept her satisfied and every time Belisa came home there was a new note on the door from a concerned neighbor about the wailing dog inside. Andrea, who lives just underneath, told me she thought Brenda was scampering around dragging something around with her all day one day. At least Andrea thought she was having fun doing it.

Every time I went to the apartment (sometimes just to keep Brenda company while waiting for Belisa to return) there was pee and crap all over the place. It was disgusting, but something I had to put out of my mind until my dad left. During this time, a woman whom Belisa knows through her circle of dog-rescue contacts offered to “become friends” with Brenda. We took her up on the offer and started scheduling times for her to come over when nobody was home, mostly to keep Brenda quiet.

Alone, with Brenda in her crate, this woman sat on the ground with items from her purse strewn around. She let Brenda sniff the items—lipstick, compact, pocket book—and then left. Tedious, yes, but effective in providing Brenda with a bit of company.

By the end of the week, Ben and I realized that we have it pretty good up on the 5th floor. There’s nobody above us, only part of our bathroom and kitchen walls butt up against another apartment and nobody has once complained about the noise our dogs make. We’d also be paying less rent for a slightly bigger space.

In the end, we offered to put in a good word for the woman, because she was looking for a new apartment—stipulation being that if she moved in, she’d help with Brenda’s care. The woman didn’t have a job, though, so that never worked out.