Because everybody’s been asking (actually it was only one of you but who’s counting) and also since it’s been a while, I decided to trot out an update on the status on our resident pod of prime wiener dogs this week.
Those of you playing along at home will perhaps remember Ebby and Daphne, our regular, full time, been hanging around our necks forever like mill stone tube dogs. Both age 11, they are by default the matrons of our Yappers Trio.
Annie was added to the dynamic much more recently. Trouble is she was born more recently, too, which sometimes makes her a bit of a pain to live with. See, here’s the thing. Unlike the rest of us, Annie is possessed of youthful energy, exuberance, curiosity, intensity of purpose and other traits poorly suited to a senior citizen environment.
Imagine if you can a middle school kid, say one with permanent A.D.D., being dropped dead-center in the middle of an adult assisted living center.
Too terrifying to contemplate, isn’t it? Yet that is what we are confronted with daily as Good Wife Norma, the canine matrons and I plod through life while this high-strung young whipper-snapper runs laps around us, yapping in completely understandable protest at being stuck in a pace of life closer to the grave than kindergarten.
There are moments to the contrary, however, as the accompanying photo illustrates.
No one can figure out why, but for reasons only she knows our Annie has chosen to bond with me - a person whose entire life is a well-documented tribute of indifference to pets.
Inexplicably when she sees I am about to settle into the recliner that has become our shared nest, Annie will actually jump off GWN’s lap to the floor and join me. This is unprecedented in the entirety of my soon-to-be 70 years aboard this spinning orb we call earth.
And so it has come to pass that somehow I blundered into a tube dog of my own in a bizarre and entirely unlikely, weird, kinda-sorta way.
What will I do going forward in the face of such a youthful dynamo? I spent a long time in deep, intellectual thought, and when I had thought about it enough the answer came to me as in a vision quest (except without the peyote).
I calculate odds for me to outlive her in my world are zilch, therefore the only practical recourse is for me to learn to live in hers.
Keep a good thought for us please; we’re both going to need it.