Everyone knows that old people tend to be selectively forgetful. (I'm thinking of those without a diagnosed onset of dementia or Alzheimer's) Some things are sharply etched in your brain. I still remember my childhood best friend's phone number, even though I was 13 years old the last time I called her. But remembering what I absolutely had to do this morning can slip out quickly -- sort of like a freshly peeled mango: one second it's in your hand, the next minute it's not.
But I do remember that early this morning, my landlord is stopping by to put in a screen where one had apparently blown away. (Not that I noticed! But he did, making me wonder if he regularly patrols this place.) As always, I want to keep the place tidy. I put away unattractive Millie toys. I make sure the flowers are properly positioned on the table, the counter.
I needn't have bothered. My landlord comes in promptly at 8. Millie barks her head off at him (and he takes no notice of her, which only makes her bark more). He goes upstairs, puts in the screen, then proceeds to have an argument with me about whether or not he had entered the garage without notifying me. I claimed he did, because of the sudden appearance of something that wasn't there before. He claimed it had been there all along.
I suppose it could be that my memory failed me. Not likely, though possible. But why bother trying to arm wrestle with an old lady with a barking puppy over it? People are strangely insistent on convincing the world that they are unfailingly correct. About everything. Weird.
It's cold. Breakfast is in the kitchen.
Millie appears to be in her usual spirited morning mood.
I nearly forget that she has a vet visit in the late morning for a booster of something or other. Mornings are such an auto pilot for me and once I start reading, there is no guarantee that I'll reenter the real world in a timely manner. Today, I spring out of my trance on time.
Back home, she gets her usual morning comb through...
And then I tell her to rest. She will be having an afternoon of play at doggie day care while I pick up the kids -- Sparrow, then Snowdrop. Now is the time to exhale. And she does. Millie doesn't shy away from long morning exhales.
The two big kids come back to Sally's House with me. And it's great -- they love the visits here. Snowdrop is absolutely committed to her time on the couch with snacks and reading material. Sparrow always puts in a good many minutes playing with Millie. He is, in fact, the only one who does that; the rest of us will throw her a toy maybe, but mostly, we like the cuddles. Not so much the fetch games on repeat. The irony is that Millie has such a friendly personality and she certainly is the right size for a prolonged cuddle with her humans, but she does not lean toward being a lap dog. Henry was far more inclined to rest on me or close to me. Sadey, too, would insist on chunks of time right by my side. Millie, on the other hand, is happy as a anything to be rubbed and petted and held close for a minute or two, but her rest is almost always on the far corner of the couch, or equally frequently -- underneath the couch. She likes the safety of being enclosed. I suppose it comes from being crated for the night. Once she is fully potty trained, I can let her sleep where she really wants to sleep -- in the waiting dog bed. Right now I dont trust her not to have an accident there.
As usual, when we pick up Millie from doggie daycare, there is the "discussion" as to who should hold, feed, walk, carry Millie first, longer, on repeat. They leave them to sort it out.
In the evening, I remember to bring in the most vulnerable plant that seems to wilt every time there is even a slight chill in the air. And yes, they're warning of scattered frost once again. The last threat for sure! Oh, to put away the sweatshirts already! Maybe next week.
with so much love....
