Crazy old dog lady

 

Sophie waiting for company.

Now I’ve done it. I have successfully defined myself as a crazy old dog lady. And it’s all Sophie’s fault for being the extraordinarily smart dog she is. I know most dog owners will tell you theirs is the smartest dog, but I really mean it with Soph. After all, she’s a deliberate cross of a miniature poodle and an Australian shepherd.

For one thing, she has an inner clock that would put the world clock to shame. She knows to the minute when it is time to start reminding me, gently at first and then more forcefully, when it is time for her to eat. Since some days she eats seven times (small snacks, to coordinate her insulin shots), that’s a lot to keep track of. But she does it.

There’s nothing Soph likes better than company. I guess she gets bored with my company. Happy hour is her happiest time of day, and she’s been known to sit staring at the gate, waiting to see who shows up. When someone arrives, almost anyone, she is convinced they came specifically to see her.

It’s that urge to party that made me look like a crazy lady. We have learned, through hard lesson, that Sophie knows when I leave her to go off the property. Then I can get away with, “Be good. We’ll be right back.” Colin has been known to say, “No, we’re never coming back,” but she knows he’s teasing her.

But there’s no fooling her when I go into the main house for a party—and she is not going to be left behind, if she has to tear down a door. It’s taken two people to accomplish it, and then I was worried the whole time I was inside. So now I just take her. With maybe four guests, its fine. She calms right down, prowls under the dining room table for crumbs, and sometimes sleeps peacefully.

But last night was a party for Christian’s birthday, with a max of thirty people expected. That’s a lot of coming and going through the front door, and one of our fears is that she’ll slip out. In her younger days, Sophie had a wild urge to head north to Canada. These days, I think she’s realizes she has it pretty good where she is and won’t play door dash, but none of us want to take a chance. The other thing is that, unsupervised, she’d love to graze the buffet table, clean any plates left on low tables, and generally make a nuisance of herself in search of food. Since her diabetes diagnosis, she takes just enough prednisone to make her ravenous all the time.

So I took her leash inside with me. When guests arrived last night, there I sat,  leash in hand. Sophie strained to greet each new person and was generally rewarded with some gesture of affection. These wee mostly people who have visited in the cottage and know and love both of us (how blessed I am! And I love them each and all). So each would stop, speak with Sophie, give her a hug, and then move on to hug me.

But there were a few outliers, people that don’t know us well, and I suddenly realized, siting there, they must think I am one of those crazy old ladies who can’t go anywhere without her dog. The kind who carry the dog in a purse or shopping bag. The kind who have small dogs for support dogs. Believe me, it’s the other way around—I was supporting Sophie’s people addiction. Of course, no one said anything, and everybody was kind to Sophie, so this categorization of me could be all in my imagination. But I am attached to that little creature.

And if I look at her and ask, “Are you ready to go home?” her ears perk up and she hads for the back door. Party’s over. For us, it ends pretty early, and we are both happy to be back in the quiet of our cottage.

Party's over.

Summer camp, recalcitrant dogs, and a lovely dinner

Jacob left for two weeks at Sky Ranch today. This will be his fourth year at the camp, and he loves it. I’m happy for him, but of course will miss him. The neat thing: he gave me not one but two goodbye hugs—and they were tight hugs, not what I had been calling his passive hugs where he kind of leaned into me and let me hug him. He came out to say goodbye, hugged me, and I said the usual things about having fun and being careful. Then he hung around the driveway, waiting for his parents to be ready to leave. When they appeared, he came back in and announced another hug. Both times, he also had lingering farewells with Sophie who didn’t understand but welcomed his love. I told him to just imagine how ecstatic she’ll be to see him after two weeks, and he grinned.

He’s been practicing his cursive again a bit, and announced last night that he really wanted to write a letter in cursive from camp. I’m assuming, and hoping, that letter will be addressed to me.

Friends Teddy and Sue, knowing I would be alone tonight, invited me for supper. Teddy came to pick me up and help feed the dogs—his part of the job was to go in the house and bring the dogs out. Easier said than done. Those two balked at coming into the cottage; when we finally got them both inside, we closed the door so they couldn’t wander out. Then they just looked at their food. In frustration, Teddy and I poured small glasses of wine and sipped while we cajoled. After what seemed forever, both dogs ate out of the same bowl and ignored the other one. Sophie, who scarfed down her food immediately, kept looking like, “What’s the holdup here? I want my treat.” Getting the Cavaliers back into the house and their crate was another painful project. I finally gave Teddy small milk bones to lure them.

Lovely evening with good conversation. We talked about everything from friends and family to politics, people they recently met, my work, religion, you name it, and we lingered a long time at the dinner table—the best kind of dinner party. I don’t get steak very often, so steak that Teddy grilled to perfection (quite rare) was a treat.I brought maybe a third of my steak home—lunch for tomorrow.

I am so grateful for the continuing friendship of these two. Sue lived next door to me when her two children were quite young—the oldest is now a senior at the University of Arkansas and the youngest, a high school senior. She was then newly single. Since then she has built herself a strong career as a writer and marketing professional to major international law firms. Sue is Canadian, and her parents are in Ottawa—a long way away—so she named me her Fort Worth mom, a title that honors me. Teddy came on the scene maybe six years ago or so, and is perhaps the best thing she’s found in forever. I adore him.

A bonus: we took my walker, but only in case I had to go to the loo, one place Teddy wouldn’t walk me. I walked from my house to the car, up a medium long sidewalk at their house, from kitchen to dining table, and, at evening’s end, back to the car. Teddy’s strong arm made me confident, and he told me to hold my wrist firm. He’s a chiropractor and said he could feel the bones in my wrist popping. He predicted trouble in that right wrist if I didn’t start holding it straight, so I did. That made me put more weight on my legs, which was good. I was full, happy, and proud of my walking when I got home.

A good day—with lots of work done despite the big events.