Sue MurphyI am writing this from a sunlit chair in my piano room. Actually, I am only sitting on half the chair, maybe less, because Dave is occupying the rest.
This détente is a considerable improvement from earlier in the day, when Dave was in deep, dark dog trouble. Naughtiest he’s ever been.
The termite inspection guy had arrived, and when I opened the front door a crack to speak to him, Dave seized the opportunity to bolt out the door and across the lawn. In the past, he would have stepped out on the porch, given a few half-hearted barks and returned inside for his “thank you for coming back inside” cookie. Not this time. This time, he ran full speed down the lawn into the street, with me in hot pursuit. Actually, my pursuit these days is not all that hot, but it didn’t matter, because even though I was not up to full speed and had on my soft-sole slippers, I was the only game in town. The termite guy wisely chose to continue down the driveway, ignoring the crazy woman who was by now running into her neighbor’s yard hurling very unlady-like names at a 14-pound dog.
I chased Dave into the neighbor’s bushes (sorry about that) and down their driveway into their backyard, still spewing words I would never say in front of my grandchildren. Finally, finally, I was able to lay my hands on Dave, but only because he paused to relieve himself (a rookie mistake). I hauled him back across the yards and up the sidewalk and into the house where I deposited him, rather forcefully, into my bedroom and slammed the door. Then I collapsed on the couch.
Once I regained my breath, I sat down in this same sunlit chair and vowed not to make any contact with Dave until dinner time, and then only for a cursory bowl of kibble. There would be no Rachel Ray Roasters tonight.
I watched out the window as the termite guy made his inspection, noting that he kept a safe distance when he got to my window. When he was done, he gingerly knocked on the door and handed me the paperwork from as safe a distance as he could manage.
A few minutes later, the house was quiet and I was able to review my actions. I’d like to say I was sorry, but nope. I was still that mad. I needed more time.
Dave was quiet for a few minutes, then he began to whine, not an “I’m sorry” whine, but an “I’m unhappy in here” whine. Yeah? Well, imagine how I feel.
A few minutes later (more than I’d like to admit), I returned to being a grownup. Dave had already returned to being a dog, so we were both in our appropriate stations. Now, it was up to one of us to make the first conciliatory move. Since Dave could not open the door, it had to be me. I walked to the bedroom, wordlessly walked back to the piano room with Dave at my heels and sat in the sunlit chair where I intended to remain until I was good and ready.
And that is where we are. I must say that this sunshine is softening my “no treats” resolve. They say that dogs do not remember these naughty incidents past their occurrence. It is to my shame that I will.
Anyway, thank you for letting me rant. It’s been quite a day. I see a big bowl of chocolate ice cream in my future. That’s Rachel Ray Roasters for people.
English (US)