It’s Monday morning. Frank got home yesterday. I knew that his car had turned in the driveway when a flash of yellow blasted past me heading for the back door. You have to love a Lab. I’ve never seen a dog wiggled with as much enthusiasm.
I was really happy to see him too. It doesn’t bother me at all that I’m an obvious backup crew in Daisy’s eyes. I was happy to relinquish my role as primary caregiver. Her hero was home!
Case in point. I wrote this on Saturday afternoon in the middle of dog care weekend:
What’s wrong with this picture? I’m sitting in a chair, feet propped on an ottoman, reading a book. It’s a good book. I’m pretty content. But I’ve been reading for over an hour and would really like to get up. Maybe get a cup of tea or a snack. The bread I made earlier today has cooled and is calling my name.
But I’m not moving. I’m being very still. Daisy is sleeping on the couch. Any movement on my part will have my little partner at my side ready for action. In her world, snacks are meant to be shared. At least, that’s what the Big Guy has led her to believe.
Then there’s the time of day. It’s after 4 PM. Shade time in the front of the house. When she wakes up, she’ll want to head out to the front lawn to spend a little quality time checking out today’s goings-on in the neighborhood. This has become a routine event around here. When Frank is home, he’s always willing to go out with her. I’m not that excited about sitting on the front steps while Daisy chews on an old towel that she has snagged from the garage, but I’m doing my best to keep her happy.
She’s a really good dog. Sweet tempered and quiet, but pretty set in her ways. You really can’t fault her for believing that our little world revolves around her because, I guess, it does. Might have a lot to do with being retired and well past the point of child rearing. The pampered princess has filled the gap.