Ramblings of a Happy Mind #6

Ramblings of a Happy Mind #6

By Nita Wilson

 Sitting here on a lovely fall day trying to re-write and save the novel, “Josette” to my niece, Nancy’s approval and I look out the back window over the porch between ideas.  It’s thirty minutes before time to feed the roommate dogs and they’re pacing around the big back yard like nervous fathers in an old maternity waiting room.  It makes me wonder how we as humans manage to wait patiently to be called to the table in our favorite restaurant even if we have reservations, or standing in line at Galatoire’s.  My my, wouldn’t it be funny if we’d all just pace around Bourbon street waiting for our table, sniffing the pavement and each other.  I think dogs have more fun while waiting, not that I want to smell other people, but I’d have that option.  If Dash smelled a mole right now, she’d be off like a cartoon dog with its nose to the ground walking in figure eights while Bronte’s bark would scare the little creature farther underground.   Oops, now they’re gone.  Might be in the little shed connected to the back of the house with the nice sized doggy door made from Bronte’s chewing when he was just a pup, or maybe out by the back fence behind a tree watching for villains coming down the creek.  Nope, there goes Dash, she was on the porch waiting patiently for dinner in the old wading pool full of blankets she’s made her nap area.  Bronte lost the fight on that one and has to settle to be bent and wadded up in the old wicker chair when its nap time.  His head lies over the arm and his feet and legs stick out on either side like a crab in a trap.  I tried to make him a bed under the swing, but Dash used to sleep in the old chair and left when she outgrew it, but he feels he usurped it as alpha dog and won’t give it up for anything.  Dash lies comfortably in her wading pool bed and smirks at her brother.  If I could put a cartoon balloon over her head, it would say, “Idiot.”

I made a pot of chili today, my first for the fall season and I’m deciding to keep it here, eat on it for a couple of days and freeze the rest for later, or take it down to my sister and her family. The problem is, I like spicy chili and this is just hot enough to make you go, “Ooh, ooh, ooh that’s good.”  My sister and her family complain if I use a little black pepper on their fried egg, so I see a freezer in this chili’s future.  I’m eating a small bowl of chili with saltines and a dollop of sour cream.  The roommates are eating their food on the back porch and as usual consider me the greatest hunter of them all and have sworn their allegiance to me.  Dash just looked through the window and if she could, she’d give me thumbs up.  Bronte looked over as if to say, “Any more?  What you eaten’ can I have some of that?”  I try not to have eye contact; it brings about a whole new series of whines and pleadings from Bronte to come in and watch TV.  I let them stay outside in the good sunshine and fresh air until around five.  Then they come in to watch TV until bedtime, and just like a tired human, fall asleep within minutes.  So instead of two dogs asleep on the porch, there are two dogs asleep in the living room.  At eight or eight-thirty I tell them it’s bedtime and they move slowly like old friends with arthritis, down the hall to the biggest guest room, wait for me to open the door; turn on their TV then the ceiling fan and they are in for the night.  Now, there is a tragedy about to happen on Wednesday night.  My young cousin is moving in while she goes to Southern and she’ll have ‘their’ bedroom.  I’ll move them to the small guest room and it’ll take Dash one night to get used to the new room but Bronte will be waiting at Jessie’s door each night to go to bed, until she moves into her sorority house. It’s been so interesting watching these two personalities form and identify these two dogs.  It isn’t learned behavior; they had these budding personalities from the time I brought them home as wee pups.

It’s the night after I wrote the above and the dog roommates have been introduced to their new sleeping quarters/room.  Bronte made a liar of me and jumped on the doggy blanket covered daybed without a whine.  Dash followed; wondering why.  I put them down earlier tonight than usual as I was trying to watch “The Mentalist” and one was snoring on the floor by my desk and the other was snoring like an old hog lying on the big ottoman.  Now, you may think your dog snores, but these two need their adenoids removed or one of those snore strips, make that a box of snore strips. I’ve had husbands who didn’t snore as loudly. 

Their favorite person came to visit this afternoon and helped me clean ‘their’ room for Jessie.  I may be a great hunter in their eyes, but niece Hannah, my dears… Hannah is their hero, goddess, alpha dog from heaven and best girlfriend.  I saw Bronte once eyeing my jewelry box looking for, (I know in my heart), one of my rings to give her as an engagement ring.  It’s sad, as he’s been snipped and could never expect anything more than friendship, but, I digress. He actually responds when she says “I love you” and tries to say it back.  Damn dog can’t howl at the moon but he can almost say, “I love you”.  Hannah walks into the house and Dash hits the sofa with all four paws to heaven and waits for her belly rubs; if a belly rub isn’t forth coming, she’ll slap poor Hannah with a paw until it does.  Bronte stands up with his paws on her shoulders and begins a dance only he can fathom the steps to or hear the music in his doggy brain.  But, alas, Hannah is in love with another.  She has a cat named Isabel and can’t see any future in these two hounds.  I haven’t told them, they’ll be crushed, better to keep it among ourselves.  Now, I have described these two as spoiled and demanding.  Yes.  My bad, I’m afraid.  I expect them to do their own thing and I’ll do my own thing and we can live together happily.  I enjoy their antics and personalities and they like the food I “hunt” and bring back to them.  A friendship made in heaven.  Of course when I’m feeling generous I ask Hannah to come visit.  Not too often their poor little hearts can’t take it.  Don’t you love when your dog chases squirrels in his sleep?  It amuses me; they're lying on their sides, all four paws running in place.  Little doggy sounds like mild barks come from closed mouths and then I think, squirrels?  What if they’re dreaming they’re chasing me?  Whew, too much TV.