Grieving New Yorker finds distraction in Beijing's canine comforts

According to the World Health Organization, as of Sunday, some 73,000 of my fellow citizens in the United States had died from the novel coronavirus pandemic ravaging the planet, representing well over a quarter of the world's fatalities from the deadly contagion. Americans make up just under 4 percent of humanity, yet we (yes, I am an American) constitute some 28 percent of the dead worldwide from this invisible enemy. So I have good reason to be distressed. Add to that the fact that as a New Yorker, that area now has nearly 20,000 dead COVID-19 victims, well over four times higher than the hardest-hit city in China－Wuhan－whose death toll is shy of 4,000, said the National Health Commission.

My monthly columns on this forum have without exception praised the heroism and resilience of the plague-plagued people of Wuhan. Please check the archives. Now it is time to think about the terrified people of New York, and the rest of the world.

That being said, and this is an awkward segue, I have been lucky to be self-quarantined in Beijing, with the mandatory "pesky" wrist and forehead temp-checks every time I leave the residential compound or enter the workplace. I am appreciative of local efforts at contagion-containment.

Another "that being said", as a feel good story to counter the carnage in Wuhan and New York in particular, I recently had the apophenia-esque experience of "bad things come in threes".

Granted, the world neither revolves around any one individual, but sometimes matters align, temporarily, in a way that is wont to roast marshmallows round the "threes" camp.

Case in point, about a month ago I was (1) strictly quarantined at home with a full fridge and dreams of daily dancercize in front of taped documentaries; (2) my pet pooch (are there any other types?) was lethargic and languid beyond her Bichon Frise age, and (3) my best (and only) self-quarantined amigo needed to see a vet.

This was not a pet-owning hypochondriac rubber-hammer-knock-knee reflex. I had known her as a great friend and roommate (though her wallet mysteriously "disappears" when the Tex-Mex restaurant bill arrives!) for several years.

I hate the "dog years" trope. It means I will outlive her, and that's not a good bedtime story.

But I needed to get her professional help, and not on a Freudian couch with the swinging pocketwatch.

So off we went, in the first-period plague intermission when the zamboni was making its rounds, and with Xiao Bai safely tucked away in her rover rucksack past security－the same day that the residential compound miraculously lifted outside spot strolls. And off we went.

Upon reaching the vet, a 10 minute walk away, the sawbones must have seen the fear in my furry friend's eyes and immediately dropped what he was doing (luckily he wasn't holding a Saint Bernard) and performed an ultrasound on my best friend's torso.

Massive cysts, swelling and soreness were detected and a curative course was designed.

The short－my best and only stay-at-home pal these past four months or so is doing so much better now after a few days at the "barking bungalow" thanks to some Love in the Time of Cholera.

I salute Dr Liu, Master Qi, and all the support staff of the YY Pets Animal Hospital in Beijing's Chaoyang district.

The priority of course is protecting humans. But these two took the time, care, initiative and sanitary precautions to operate on one of man's best friends, and make this pup's "service human" feel the humanity of COVID-era vets to the core.