forgot Iím supposed to be puppysitting later this week. Remembered
it earlier this afternoon, and since I was alone in the yard at
the time the response to rememberingóďcrapĒófell a bit flat. Allow
me to say it had a lot of meaning behind it and significant emotion.
If the chipmunks under the shed were around to hear me, they know
I wasnít at all thrilled by the prospect of arriving guests.
not that Iím against puppysitting. Iím great with it. Love dogs
in general. Love the dogs that are supposed to be coming over
this week. Happy to help the friends that asked. ButÖ
be told, now that the day is approaching, I can think of a few
dozen things Iíd rather be doing.
get me wrong, the dogs on the wayóand yes, that is dogs, pluralóare
great dogs. Theyíve never damaged a thing in our house during
previous visits, can be left unsupervised if I need or want to
go out for a bit, and basically the only responsibilities I have
in this entire arrangement involve food, water, and opening the
door into the backyard. (Note to self: Turn on the light and
check backyard first. No skunks. Watch out for the skunks.)
only problem Iím likely to encounter, based on previous puppysitting
of this duo, is that they will take over the bed. Theyíre sneaky
that wayÖ kind of like camping out for something they really,
really want, theyíll head in there in the middle of the afternoon
to claim their spots. They might move for dinner. They will move
if they hear the door open. Itís possible they might find a spot
on a chair in the living room while I watch television. More likely
thoughÖ napping on the bed hours before I head in there, and then
I have to move them to claim my spot.
isnít the dogs though. Iím realizing itís cleaning the house thatís
getting to me. Iím fine with what I said I would do, itís the
things I need to do to get ready to do it. And the problem there
is that Iím getting old.
with beards donít grow beards because they want to have beards.
They grow beards because they donít want to shave. They donít
want to shave every day. That kind of getting old. Understand?
Itís likeÖ hold onÖ new paragraphÖ
years ago, getting ready to go out for the night or away for the
weekend was never a concern. I cleaned upÖ I packedÖ I knew there
was a good chance I would come out the other side lacking sleep.
been known to pick a restaurant for dinner with my wife based
on whether or not I can get away with a t-shirt and shorts because
I have no desire to iron. I really, really want to see my friends
tonightÖ I really, really, really want to be asleep eight
to nine hours before I have to wake up.
month ago, when I said ďsure, bring them overĒ I felt great about
it. Now? Ugh. But those dogs shouldnít be offended, since Iím
also kind of happy itís going to rain tomorrow because I have
no desire to mow the lawn.
like to come up with some wonderful defense of all this, but other
than just wanting to put on my pajamas, grab a cookie or two and
a bottle of water, then sit down with the remote being the preferred
plans, Iíve got nothing.
twist, of course, is that once those preparations are over and
the actual event takes place, itís usually a blast. You start
having thoughts about why you donít do things like it more often.
those dogs leave, Iíll get a bit depressed and wish they could
stay. Iíll be thinking about whether or not Terry and I need a
puppy in the house.
the every day realities return. Iíll be happy spending a day in
my pajamas and not worrying about accomplishing anything. Iíll
greet requests to play cards, or comments like ďletís just watch
a movie hereĒ, with joy (and relief).
routine. Itís what makes the special special.