Dither Days and Dog Days

Sophie has decided it's play time

 

With Thanksgiving so late this year, I realize that Christmas is less than four weeks away. Tis the season to be in a dither--what to do first?  Should I begin to wrap presents, worry about the grandchildren for whom I have no presents yet, start a grocery shopping list for holiday cooking? I get so dithery about it I'm sure I'll end up reading most of the evening and accomplishing nothing. Some years I set myself a goal of wrapping four presents a day but then, when I get into it, I'm surprised at how quickly it goes (my packages are nothing fancy to write home about).
Not that I didn't accomplish things today--two groceries stores and the hardware (where I bought the wrong size light bulbs so I'll have to go back--I was so intent on getting soft light rather than bright white that I didn't look at the size of the socket they were meant for). Edited a blog, took care of details on my desk--a cooking magazine I'm marginally interested in just tried to double bill me and I was proud of myself for tracking it down. Did my yoga (while Sophie slept through it).  Did read and nap.
Now, with one eye, I'm re-watching the National Dog how--still missed the Irish Wolfhound. I love those gentle giants. But it's fun to watch and say to myself, "I used to have one of those...and those." Cairns, collies, bearded collies, Irish Wolfhounds, an Aussie, an English cocker--there are so many dogs waiting for me on the Rainbow Bridge. I loved every one of them but some more than others.  I talked to someone the other day about that classic dog we each have--we love all our animals, but for many of us there's one that stands out. For me, it was a magnificent, regal male mahogany collie named Shea who adopted us. We kept him for a year for friends who had a temporary teaching assignment abroad. They came back and collected Shea, but he kept returning to us. I'd hear a rustling in the bushes outside and know Shea was back. When my then-husband and I were ready to move to Texas, we oh-so-tentatively asked the owner if we could take Shea. And he said, "I thought you'd never ask!" For my brother it was a wonderful German Shepherd who followed him to class in medical school--John would take him out of the building, but every time someone opened the door, King was right back at John's side. Finally, John would tell the teacher, "If you just let him stay, he'll lie quietly by my side." And he did.
Don't get me wrong--I adore Sophie. She's as sweet as she can be and probably smarter than Shea and King put together, but she'll never reach that height of dignity. Maybe it's big dogs, but Sophie was never meant to be dignified. And she'll never be in the National Dog Show--Bordoodles, like so many of the "designer" breeds, aren't recognized by the AKC.
Sophie has funny habits. When I call her to come in, especially after dark, she seems to think I'm winning if she comes right in. She either looks at me or runs in the other direction. If I leave the door open and get out of sight, she'll come in. But the rules of her game are that I can't watch her. Lately she barks at me when I eat my supper, a sign she wants her supper. This is the dog who used to ignore her food until ten o'clock. I can't figure her out a lot of the time, but I sure was glad to get home to her yesterday.
Back to my dither, think I'll map out a cooking and grocery schedule--that is, when Sophie decides I don't have to play any more.