I’m still shocked, in disbelief, that a neighbor and good friend passed away last night. He was within a year or two of my age.
Rick and I were retired communications workers–for the same company in adjoining states. We could fall back on telling telephone “war” stories. Rick always lent a helping hand when needed.
Because of Rick, I have buried telephone service to my workshop. It’s an old-fashioned landline. How else were my antique telephones going to work? With ringers as loud as firehouse gongs, they’d refuse to operate on wireless–the very idea.
Every good thing that will be said, Rick deserves. He was one of the good guys. Me and the dogs will miss him. We couldn’t pass by Rick’s house on walks without Max putting on the brakes. Max loved to see Rick–go back to his workshop. I know it was an interruption. Rick refurbished golf carts. Rick always found the time.
“You have a small mouth,” Said the dental hygienist. My sarcastic nature went to work.
“Maybe I missed my calling? I should have joined the circus.” Her comment was off-the-wall–or at the very least, tactless.
“Sorry, I’m just a mouth monitor–would you look at the size of that mouth! Now, there’s a mouth I could work with.” She didn’t say it–was she thinking it?
A neighbor, given to spontaneous bombastic bouts of unsolicited advice, had this to say about preventing my dogs from digging holes in the backyard.
“Well, you fill the hole up with water. Then, grab the offending dog by the nose; stick the dog’s head and snout underwater, until he squirms and gasps for air. Repeat, if necessary, and by gosh they’ll get the message or drown. Either way–no more holes!”
“Thanks for the information, neighbor. I’ll get back to you on that.” There was no way in heck, I was going to do that.
Most holes were discovered after the fact. When it was too late to yell at the offender. Collecting dog excrement and depositing it in the hole before filling it was semi-successful. The worst holes were under the privacy fence.
At this point, I don’t think the dogs wanted to escape–they were just curious about neighborhood activities. And, I can dig that.
Rumors are flying
Max will soon be seven
Grunts before sitting
And lying down
Approaching my age in dog years
Imitators may come and go
This is the only Max I know
The original is still the best
Just look at his puppy picture
Look at that face–awww
One of two overstuffed chairs to be given away. Many pleasant memories there–the chair nearest the front window was from where our beloved Dillon watched the world outside.
Dillon left us a short five years ago. The sense of loss never went away. Pets hold special places in our hearts. That’s how I will always remember our German Shepherd mixed breed–sitting in that same chair, like he was king.
Oh, the thoughts that trample through my head when I can’t sleep. Max, one of my furry children, limped last night before going to bed. It was his surgically repaired leg. This pet parent worries about his two charges.
Then, the rain started. Not much thunder-rain fell in torrents. Morning dawned, towering thunder clouds dotted the horizon. No morning walk today–It will be a good day for reflection.
Maggie, my other dog insisted on going outside in pouring rain. The purpose–to hunt frogs and toads. She hates to be dried off with a towel–so I had to chase her down. Max loves it–because it’s like being petted.
After that it was a spirited game of catch-me-if-you-can. Max chased without the slightest sign of a limp. Could he be limping for attention? He fooled me. And, it’s going to rain all day.
Tuesday seems like Sunday because of laundry that awaits to be done. Suitcases are stored away. Playing catch-up after vacation makes one question whether vacations are worth the trouble.
Seeing family and friends, was both a treat, and a reality check. My wife and I are getting older. The trip “home” gets harder as the years pass. Last year there was an unfortunate accident en route over the Holidays.
Fresh peaches and tomatoes from Eckert’s orchard are already starting to deteriorate. I’ll have to stuff my face with peaches in the next few days. One tomato and three peaches were bruised in transit. I’m partial to my native state’s fresh fruit and veggies.
A good friend of ours suffers in the throes of Alzheimer’s disease. Her short-term memory is nearly nil. Just two years ago, I remember her asking–shortly after diagnosis, “How will I know if I’m losing my memory? How will I know when this disease has taken over?’
The answer given–was, that she wouldn’t know. She passes between moments of lucidity, not recognizing her companion and loved ones. A family decision looms in the near future about possible institutionalization.
I’m thankful to be home safely in spite of it all. Our two mutts are good travelers and headed to the backyard first thing after getting out of the car.
I know those
Two wet noses
With tales to tell
When they want something
A treat–or to be petted
Makes it difficult to write