the Sunday before holiday chaos

It's a quiet day. I expect this will be the last quiet Sunday this year. Between Thanksgiving meals and visits, a granddaughter's birthday, kid performances, and of course Christmas itself, which this year spans two weekends, as it falls squarely on none. Oh, did I neglect New Year's Eve? May as well be a Sunday -- it's part of the whole winter holiday blowout. So, today is quiet. And maybe that's not such a good thing.

Here's the problem: Henry, being a dog, is fitting into the patterns of his home. I am quiet. The music is gentle. Even the TV volume is set on quiet. All this is terrific for him, as he is easily spooked by sudden movement or noise. Hides behind me, if that's even possible. Barks, shakes, retreats. Of course, none of this happens at home because, well, I'm quiet. Slow. Steady. On the other hand, I've noticed that the sudden appearance of people, especially coming in or out of the elevator, totally spooks him. Woof! Woof! Henry, chill! They are not here to clobber you! I have to wonder -- were I more jumpy, loud, bouncy, with sudden movements, banging around like a young person, wouldn't he grow used to that instead? I'm doing him no service by being... quiet.

Well, so it goes. I will do a lot for this pup, but I cannot become a different person.

Henry is up early today. He tries for 5:30. I put him off. Tries again at 6 -- I give in. Maybe he just really has to go. 

It really is quite dark still at 6:15. Our sunrise today is at 7:01 a.m. And of course, the world out there is very very quiet. My pooch strains his ears to pick up sounds of movement, of life. Much of it in the tall grasses of a field he loves to sniff out. In the rare event he sees a passing human, he is on alert. Woof, woof! Henry, you're safe. They're not here to attack you. My sweet Henry thrives on reassurance.

Okay, Henry. Morning has broken...

Breakfast. I eat slowly, he eats like a speed demon, then plays. For a dog who likes quiet, he sure seems to like loud squeaks. 

A quick nap on the couch and I pack him in the car for our big outing. To Prairie Morraine dog park.

We do the big loop. The sun is out, the day is magnificent! 

 

 

 

Ed would have come, but he's using this last great day of the year to do his bike ride. So it's me and the pooch. Well, many pooches.

(my dog is... fast!)

(...and beautiful)

A quiet Sundays means that in between the dog park racing and the calmer neighborhood walks, there are lots of naps. Not mine. I'm busy with holiday planning. When Henry is awake, I tell him that I really want a better closeup of his soft face. With the mistletoe collar. He is such a patient fellow!

(want a cup of holiday coffee, my sweet pooch?)

  

As a reward, I take him out again to the Penni Klein dog park. The smaller one close to me. And again my very athletic pooch plays with a ball.

The dog visitors there are few and at this hour they usually are accompanied by old guys -- maybe taking the dog out while the wife cooks? Maybe living alone with Bud or Nellie for company? Bud and Nellie are often not very good at dog play and Henry has learned to avoid squabbles by simply moving forward. The old men rarely take the full walk. They throw a ball and Bud will bring it back. We can safely remove ourselves into the further corners of the park.

Ed calls just as we come back home. I tell him that I cannot talk now because I am about to Zoom with Bee in Warsaw -- my only adult contact for this day. He laughs and tells me -- I have had no adult contacts today or yesterday, You're it! Oh my solitary guy, I hope I live long enough to give you that one adult contact as we get even older! 

Evening. I forgot to plan a dinner for myself. I have a backup plan: a frozen meal. A quinoa bowl! How about that, I've stooped that low -- pulling out a frozen dinner and popping it in the microwave! Tomorrow I'll do better. Tonight, it's Basil Pesto Veggie Bowl. (It tastes even worse than it sounds.) Eh, who's to know, right? Dogs don't spill secrets.

 

 

with so much love...