Haircuts and a spoiled dog

March didn’t exactly roar in like a lion, but neither was it lamblike. Today, while sunny and pretty, was still quite chilly. I was glad to bundle up when I went out. Started the day with a haircut, which is always a nice thing. Makes me feel bouncy somehow. Many thanks to Rosa Estrada who makes house calls for me until I get back on my feet—or at least in my car. She’s been cutting my hair for about sixteen years now and is a dear and valued friend. She gives such a good haircut that one day a woman stopped me in a restaurant, said she used to do haircuts, and it was really difficult to do one like mine well. Whoever cut my hair, she said, had done an excellent job. So, hat’s off to Rosa. Besides, she just ran the full Cowtown, and I’m impressed.

Not so pleasant was my appointment to have my teeth cleaned. I really like my hygienist, Stephanie in the office of Dr. Peter Ku, but I harbor a childhood fear of dental appointments. When I was a kid—all those long years ago—dental techniques were pretty rough, and the drill was laborious and slow. And painful. And I had bad teeth, so I had a lot of dental work. The dentist was a close family friend, close enough that I knew him as an uncle, but he was also a taciturn man, given neither to comfort nor small talk. As an adult, I became very fond of him; as a child, I was frightened, and those memories linger even today. Stephanie did make it painless, and all my dread was for naught.

And I had visitors today, always a welcome break from routine. Jean came for coffee after her yoga workout this morning, and Phil and Subie came for wine this evening. Enjoyed all the visiting, but Sophie was a brat. She loves company, but she wants their attention and mine. This morning, she kept barking and growling at me (not serious growling) and then she jumped at my arm to get my attention—I finally pulled the walker in front of me as a barricade. She wanted a treat, which she does not get in the morning. Jean and I ignored her, though it’s hard to talk over her barking. But finally she settled down, lay on the floor with her paws crossed in a most ladylike manner, and gave us both baleful looks.

Tonight, when she barked, I thought, “Okay, it’s dinner time.” So I gave her a treat; she still barked. I gave her a bowl of dog food, which usually she stares at and doesn’t eat until much later. She ate every bit and barked; I gave her another bowl. Subie and Phil both loved on her, but nothing would quiet her. By some good fortune, I enticed her outside and closed the door firmly. She stood looking like, “Aren’t you going to let me in?”

I think I have a spoiled dog and am going to have to exert my authority. I’m trying, I’m trying. But even if I didn’t write today, I accomplished things—like the haircut and the dentist and some good reading.’