Our Little Tykes

It's been about five years since my husband ripped all the carpeting off our main staircase leading from the foyer to the second floor. He'd wanted an all oak staircase. We already had the oak balustrade and turnings, all he had to do was convert the stair treads and backs from pine underlay to oak overlay. Which he set about doing. It took quite a while; he bought the oak a bit at a time and gradually converted the entire staircase.

I'd been uncertain whether he should proceed, but as usual he asks my opinion, and regardless of what it is, if he's sufficiently determined he'll go ahead anyway. I knew that once the carpeting was removed and replaced with wood, the staircase would never again be a playground for our little dogs, where I would toss their balls and toys and they'd run up to retrieve them, bringing them back for more tosses.

Our children weren't too certain it would be a good idea, since their parents were getting on in age, and they thought ahead a bit to us in our dotage, having difficulty negotiating wood steps, slipping and falling. Always a possibility, but never, thus far, a reality. But the wood steps present as a hazard to our little dogs; it is they who occasionally trip up and slip on them.

Mind, it's a stunningly beautiful staircase. My husband is more than pleased with the fruit of his efforts. As am I.

And this morning, a truly dreadful sight; our porky little stub-legged toy poodle Riley, lost his footing as he followed me up the stairs. I had been well ahead of him, already halfway down the upper hallway when I heard an odd sound which I realized later was the air being whacked out of his chest. Followed by odd thumps, at which sound I realized what was happening.

I raced back to the top of the stairs just in time to see him tumbling sideways, length-ways, down one step after another. Hurrying down the steps in a frantic effort to try to catch him before he went any further, I observed in horror, in a kind of slow motion effect, his futile attempts to stop his progress, to right himself.

I reached him finally, when he was on the fourth-to-last step. He had managed to right himself, was standing shakily on his legs, and, turning about to face the opposite direction, began feebly to try going down the stairs. I swept him up and clasped him to me. He was trembling, his heart racing.

Later, out in the ravine, he was hesitant to proceed, walked awkwardly and slowly, then stopped, asking to be picked up. We'd caught another ten cm of snow yesterday, although the trail had by early afternoon been well tamped down. We carried him a short bit, then set him down. The process of slow walking, stopping, asking to be lifted repeated several times.

Finally, he seemed to regain his normal pace and no longer asked to be picked up and we completed the usual circuit.

Earlier my husband had called around various area carpeting shops. Stair runners, he was informed, weren't in stock, they'd be happy to order for us. Price ranged from a low of $30 a foot and on upwards, steeply. Their personnel would have to come over, to measure before ordering.

Installation would be another $400 at base, depending also on how often their carpeting installers would have to come over. We said thank you very much. Went over to Home Depot, found a very suitable, quite attractively patterned runner and bought thirty feet of it. A munificent $5.95 per foot. And under-padding as well. And rods.

It'll be a bit of a stretch to figure out how to do it properly since the staircase semi-winds, and the treads are longer and wider at the bottom end, but my miracle-worker husband will succeed as he always does.