A major family crisis—and I slept through it

The Cavaliers--Cricket is the black and white one

They are inseperable

This morning when I raised the blind in my kitchen door, I noticed that the cars in the driveway were all rearranged. I knew Jordan and Christian has been to a big do last night—the American Cancer Society’s Cowtown Ball—and they planned to Uber home. So why were the cars moved? Then I booted my computer and got a chilling message, “Cricket missing. Plz watch for notices on neighborhood newsletter.”

Cricket is the older of their two beloved Cavalier King Charles Spaniels, a placid girl of ten years or more who would never bolt out to explore the world the way Sophie would. But Cricket could wander sort of without knowing what she was doing or where she was going. Still, this morning, the house was quiet, so I figured she was home and safe. In fact, I thought she was probably in some hidden corner of the  house and they just hadn’t searched hard enough. I lost Jacob that way once when he was still a toddler—and after a neighbor and I searched the house and called and called, I had the phone in hand to call the police when I saw him under the dining table.

No such luck with Cricket. Turns out they came home about midnight and sat on the front porch for a nightcap, letting the dogs wander in and out because they had gates across the two sets of stairs. Cricket had apparently slipped by the gate and was gone. There ensued frantic phone calls and driving around the neighborhood. No sign of her. Jordan spent much of the night siting on the front lawn, sobbing, as she waited for Cricket to come home. Got to say Cricket, like our other two dogs, has no street sense, no car sense, and probably couldn’t find her way home from next door.

About five this morning, they got a text. Some good Samaritans had picked her up at the school across the street and taken her home, about a mile away. Christian went to fetch her at ten, and when I saw her Cricket looked blasé, like “What’s the fuss about?”

Of course, that threw the day off. Jordan and Christian were both exhausted from lack of sleep and worry. The errands we planned to do were first postponed to late afternoon and then cancelled. I did go pick up groceries from curbside at Central Market, but I am still in urgent need, of all things, of a block of Velveeta.

But at 9:30, the house is dark, and I assume everyone is sleeping. Jacob missed the excitement because he stayed over at a friend’s house. And that’s another story. At 8:30 last night I let him walk about six blocks to the friend’s house, though he was met halfway. I knew he was safe, because I talked to him after he got there, but I am of the school where you don’t walk alone after dark. It’s a hangover from growing up on the south side of Chicago. So at three a.m., when Jordan and Christian were searching for Cricket, I was lying awake beset with guilt for letting Jacob do something dangerous.

I am clearly too old for all this trauma. May everyone have a peaceful sleep and sweet dreams.

The saga of Jacob’s dinner and other tales from the cottage

Last night, about 8:30, Jacob had come from soccer practice and a mom had picked up the friend who came with him. He burst into the cottage saying, “I need dinner immediately.” I told him he could make a ham and cheese sandwich—the food appealed to him but not the making. I’m on a kick of making him more self-sufficient, so I told him I’d walk him through it.

First obstacle: I keep my bread in the freezer, and now I don’t have a microwave. “I’m not eating frozen bread.” I explained if we left two slices out for about ten minute they’d be fine.

Next we came to cheese. He doesn’t like the Sargento slices that I think are a cut above other prepared cheeses. He wanted Velveeta slices—the ones I get for the dog. I suggested he have a ham sandwich.

He spread mayo on the bread, opened the brand new container of deli ham, and flipped the whole thing onto the floor, where it landed on the mud rug. I’m not wasting a whole pack of ham, so I picked it  up to take off the outer pieces and brush off the dirt.

“I’m not eating it,” as he threw the bread away and stalked off. In the end he made himself a bowl of cereal, but even then he was cautious. “Is it the kind we like?” I wanted to shout, “No, I deliberately bought cereal we don’t like.”

This morning I wakened him for school, went back to bed, and harangued him from there to get up. Fell asleep and when I woke up he was at school. But I had no dog. She didn’t greet me, didn’t come when I called her. I called Christian to see if she was in the house—she wasn’t. I told him he’d have to drive the neighborhood, and I’d put her picture on the neighborhood email. Then, “Wait a minute.” I wheeled around to the corner where her chair is behind my desk and monitor.

There she was, sleeping peacefully. She roused enough to look at me as though asking, “Yes? You wanted something?”

I had a big adventure today—went out to lunch with a friend. So special that I even put on leggings (inside my boot) and put a little makeup on my face. But I worried about leaving Sophie—she hasn’t been alone in the cottage yet. And then we found out what triggers her separation anxiety. When the transport wheel chair came out, she had a meltdown, howling, dancing around, jumping. Fortunately, Socorro was here, so Carol put Sophie in the bathroom, wheeled me down the ramp, and asked Socorro to let her out of the bathroom. When we came home an hour later, she was glad to see us but calm. No damage to the house.

All of this has me thinking I’ll change the name of my blot from Judy’s Stew to Tales from the Cottage. More about that later.