The other day I was in a store on the hunt for a replacement battery for my cell phone. While in the electronics department, I found myself standing at the customer service counter next to a youngish couple with a very upscale baby carriage. Awwwww, I do have a particular weakness for babies. Bending my head slightly to sneak a peek at the little passenger in the carriage, instead of an infant looking back at me, I came eye to eye with a very diminutive little Yorkie. The little furball was equally as surprised to see my face looming over it I’m sure, as I was to see hers. The woman standing next to the carriage caught me peeking, and said, “that would be Sadie”. I might have guessed Sadie to be her name, as it was embroidered in bright pink letters across the bib of the little dress the animal was wearing. Her outfit was an ensemble look apparently, because beneath the dress, layers of deep pink netting could be seen poking out stiffly on all sides. “Hello, Sadie”, I said to the little face. I complimented the owner on how cute the dog was. The dog was so cute. Cute or not, the jury is still out for me on dogs in tutu’s, but let’s face it It’s a dog’s world these days. People can be seen walking or jogging along the street pushing strollers carrying animals of all sizes and descriptions. Dogs are present in stores, on planes, under tables in restaurants, and supporting their teams at sporting events in ever increasing numbers. This is not a new concept really, but does seem to me to be more prevalent of late. Now don’t misunderstand me, I love, love, love animals. It’s just sometimes I think we tip the pendulum a little bit too far. Back when Rick and I owned the restaurant, we had friends who had two Shih Tzu’s. The dogs, so their owners claimed, carried better pedigrees than most members of the royal family. They were their “babies”, they would say, and were treated as such. The dog’s closets were chock full of rung after rung of poles filled with small hangers on which hung clothing often of finer fare than my own. A small chest close by held their accessories such as hair bows and rain boots. The little prince and princess boasted outfits for every occasion, from holidays to bat mitzvahs , or whatever else your imagination might conjure up. Treats were purchased for them at the upscale Dogg-E Bakery in a nearby city, where everything was “baked with puppy love, fr esh with fresh ingredients”. The dogs traveled with their owners to every appointment from hair dressers to luncheon engagements, that local health regulations would allow. They even came to our door one Halloween night to trick or treat. Each pup carried a little plastic pumpkin dangling from the front of their collar. The male came dressed as a pirate, with a heavily listing stuffed parrot perched atop one shoulder, while the little female was appropriately attired in gown and tiara as sleeping beauty. With no dogs in our house to mooch a treat for them from, I got creative and deposited a piece of string cheese inside each pumpkin. This seemed to do the trick, as tails a’wagging, they went on their way to the neighbor’s house to see what goodies they could score over there. The couple who owned these pampered pooches had done very well for themselves over the years. This high level of success now allowed them to enjoy the fruits of their labors, including a gorgeous estate with an in-ground pool and spectacular lake views. The doggy quarters were situated on the downstairs level of this spacious home on the third floor level. Though the pups pretty much had the run of the place, as evidenced from the vast array of squeaky toys and bones distributed across the carpets, if warn out from their day they could retire to their custom doghouse to wind down. The canine abode had been built to closely resemble the main living quarters, and did so with impeccable attention to detail. Like the larger model, the doghouse was replete with wall to wall carpeting, piped in music, circulating heat in the winter, and A/C during the hotter summer months. Aside from the posh accommodations, the animals enjoyed daily pool privileges, floating about on their own little floats, and ate filet mignon three days of the week. Looking back, they lived higher on the hog, so to speak, then most humans.
When I look at the inequities in life, it always makes me wonder at the why’s of it all. Here these two furry pets were treated like royalty, while other dogs are destined to live out their lives chained to a stake in some overgrown backyard, totally neglected, and without adequate food, water, or attention. The human equation can often look much the same. Imagine being born to say someone like Taylor Swift. Her offspring would come into their life with an enormous head start on most of us who have been toiling away for decades. Before that child had even taken it’s first step, it would have already achieved more wealth and status than most of us could ever dare to imagine in a lifetime of trying. Conversely, there are children born into families with little enough in their pockets already to feed the existing family members on the scene. These people may never look down at their plate to find a filet mignon resting on it, rather grateful for a little rice in their bowls. I wonder about these stark differences in lifestyles, but try not to stay on that track too long, lest I begin to derail.
Life will never be deemed fair or equitable, I am guessing, and I’m not knocking spoiling pets. Believe me, I understand furry love, because I feel such a strong connection with Boo, the Queen of Cats. She is a standing member of our family, though truth be known, she’s more of a lying down member. Cat sleeps 99% of the time. I do know one thing for sure, Boo would never subject herself to such debasing behavior as allowing me to dress her up, nor would I ask her to. We both have our standards. However, I have been known to travel a far piece out of my way to pick up those special soft chicken she gobbles up every day, and she does have her own comfy cozy furry bed to curl up in at night, and my lap available to her for a goodnight stroking before she heads into my room for the night.
I take her to the vet twice a week these days to get a hydration injection to help manage her ongoing kidney failure. She is in no pain, but eventually it will become more serious and we will have to begin the sad process of saying our goodbyes. I cannot put into words how much I will miss her energy in my life. Her willingness to accept me however and whenever she sees me, no matter whether I’m filthy from digging in the yard, in a mood that is, shall we say, less than welcoming, or simply just being my silly self. This unconditional love she offers me is unparalleled anywhere else in my world.
She has come to take the treatments necessary in stride, submitting herself passively to the injections with dignity. Yesterday, while Boo was tucked in her crate waiting in the vet’s outer office to go inside, a middle aged woman came in the door trailed by a small poodle. The poodle’s fur, like her owner’s hair, was dyed a vivid green, with both parties having nails of a similar hue. The poodle was wearing a small ball cap with ear holes and had on a harness cinched around his middle with images of tiny colored balloons splattered all across it. They were quite a bright sight, I have to say. Boo watched them go by with some interest through the door in her crate. I can’t say for certain, but I think I saw the cat actually roll her eyes. Such a snob that one. Whew.
Today there is a going away party in progress at work for an exiting employee. I am not in attendance because someone has to man the phones at the front desk. It’s okay with me really. I could attend, if I had a strong desire to do so. It would be as simple as finding cover for the phones. Truth is, for whatever reason, today I’m not particularly in a mood to socialize. Also pizza is on the menu. Pizza is a food I really have to be in the mood for before I indulge. As I said, I am not in the mood, either for pizza, or holding up my end of a bunch of casual conversations. I couldn’t tell you why, but I find I’m in a rather quiet, reflective mood today. It just is. I didn’t sleep well last night, which likely is part of it, and occasionally I seek out only my own company while dealing with any current unresolved issues that might be percolating in my mind. I did notice, sticking with the original animal theme of this post, a golden retriever has joined the crowd in the conference room enjoying all the festivities. I am familiar with this dog. On Monday’s, Capt’n Tom, arrives with his owner to smooze with the residents here and earn his service dog chops. A large golden retriever, gentle by nature, and a lover of people, Tom has on his party hat and is finishing up the last licks off off the side of a plastic bowl the contents of what looks to have been vanilla ice cream.
I think the quiet in my soul right now is more contemplation than anything. Things are buzzing in my world these days. I’m moving in a sometimes sideways and other times times forward direction toward taking up residence with Richard. We have been together now nearly three years. I cannot keep up with traveling back and forth every week like a nomad forever. I am grieving the idea of losing my sweet little house, on the picturesque tree lined street, in the lovely little town I live in. However, things, at least in my life, rarely stay the same forever. Change always lurks in the inevitable. I am nothing if not adaptable, so tend to roll with the waves. My mother used to say if she dropped me off the balcony of the Empire State Building, I would land on my feet and be ready for dinner. A silly expression with a smattering of truth thrown in for good measure. There is also a small measure of fear at letting my complete independence float off into the distance. Not that Richard holds me tight to any rules, he does not. At this age, I would not allow it, if he attempted to do so. Nor, do I hold him with a taut rein. Yet, there is no way to live together without giving up a certain slice of independence for the sake of becoming part of a loving partnership. That slice, I will watch a bit longingly as it rounds the bend.
The loss of the house will resolve itself as old memories fade and new ones appear to take their place. I have come to accustom myself to being in his surroundings. Over the several years we have been seeing one another, things of mine have replaced things of his and it feels more like “our” space now than simply me residing in his house. Recently, he put a TV in the bedroom I use for my clothes and belongings. That’s a nice touch for me. I don’t watch a lot of TV, but when I do it is definitely not the TV he likes to watch. There are some shared programs we both like, but mostly his favorites are British dramas. I can watch some of them, but others move along at the pace of molasses rolling out of a jar, and often my eyelids are flying at half mast by the first commercial. Another thing, he LOVES is Nascar. Ach. I believe I’ve earned my racing badge already. I dated a guy about twenty years ago who was a frustrated race driver. He watched so much of the racing footage on television, I sometimes heard the engines roaring in my sleep. When it wasn’t on TV, he liked to attend local races on the weekends in person. Basically, the events went like this. Spectators sit in stands in the heat with no shade, while a cluster of cars raced by on the track, each car jockeying for the first position. The cluster would then disappear in a cloud of smoke and gasoline around the bend, and reappear again about five minutes later……and repeat. The whole idea of the event, I came to understand, was to wait expectantly for one of the drivers to do something incredibly stupid while moving at two hundred miles an hour and flip his vehicle ten times in the air before it became a rolling inferno possibly either killing, maiming, or fricasseeing the driver or other drivers in the process. This, from what I could ascertain, appeared to be the fun part. Oh. His obsession with the sport went so far as to include installing on his home computer attachments which included an actual steering wheel, gear shift, brake, clutch and accelerator. These were used in conjunction with software he installed to simulate races at real race courses allowing the user to feel like a participant if only virtually. After a “race”, he would come up and tell me he won, if that was the case. Really? There was some sort of childhood trauma mixed up in all that, I’m not qualified to sort out. Also, this love of fast cars and speed in general slopped over into his regular street driving. When behind the wheel of his van, he drove like he was participating in a simulated race, contributing to many of the gray hairs I have on my head today. Thank you, Ron.
Well, I seem to be meandering. Hope everyone honored dad on Father’s Day. Sometimes when I think of my father, and I do often, I wonder what life might have looked like with him in it. Twenty-five is too young to die, and I certainly would have loved to have a chance to get to know him. Again, life will take you where it will. Enjoy the ride. Happy Monday!
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