What could be lovelier than a tea party at a well appointed Victorian bed and breakfast? (Visit http://romancingthepast.com for a quick setting of atmosphere, if you will. Thank you. Charming, isn't it? Go see Cate. She's wonderful, best tea in the business! Thus ends my shameless blurb for a truly delightful experience.) A nice, soothing walk back to the house, enjoying the beauty of the spring flowers and the quiet of the day after tea, that's what.
So how come I never get that?
Even though I am dreading leaving my family after such a short visit, as I walk, I am thinking about getting home to the Sweet Duet. Now, the Sweet Duet used to be The Three Dog Opera and Theatre Company (or more commonly, the 3DOT) until the passing of Shani this past January. The girls have adjusted well, as soon as they found out that I was still the one in charge, but we all miss our Bear.
And when I'm gone, even for a day, I miss the Duet. Dulcie, in particular. Usually I manage to find some kind soul who loves that I'm fussing over their loyal canine friend, and my dog withdrawal is lessened for a bit. Somehow, on this trip, I hadn't had a chance to pet a dog for about 45 hours. (Which may be some kind of record for me. Did I mention my addiction of choice is dog fur?). So during our short walk, I'm starting to long for a dog to pet, ears to rub, chin to scrub. The perfect ending to a wonderful day.
Imagine my delight when just across the street, I spy a cream colored Labradoodle trying with great enthusiasm to convince a short Corgi type dog to play. The LabraDoodle is off leash, though her human is close by. He's unsuccessful in his attempt to stop her from annoying the Corgi, who is on a leash held by a small, confused woman. She's not quite sure of the LabraDoodle's intentions, and is simply trying to get her dog away from all that curly exuberance.
My party continues on toward home base; I cross the street, intent on getting my hands full of Happy Dog. I'm just reaching down, touching Happy Dog's silkiness with my palms when the air is rent with the shout, "NO! YOU CANNOT TAKE THAT DOG HOME WITH YOU!". It's my friend Amber, who in her intention to tease me, sets off a chain reaction that nearly ends in total disaster.
First, I nearly, yes, very nearly wet my pants. Remember, I've just had some of the best tea I've ever seen poured out of a teapot, so I drank several cups of it. But my bladder is smarter than my reptile brain, so it kept things under control. Barely.
Secondly, I snatched my hands off that dog like my mother had caught me snitching her stash of chocolate covered peanuts. Some dark corner of my brain scanned the area for my mother; perhaps she'd followed me there, simply to shout at me. And when Happy Dog felt those hands leave her back, she went after them, leaning all of her considerable weight on me, a wobbly woman who was now concentrating on not peeing herself.
I caught myself before I fell into the flower bed or hit my head on the stop sign post, but it was close. Even with all this going on, I noticed that if I'd been startled, Happy Dog's poor man looked terrified as he reached out to break a possible fall. We shared a look of commiseration; by then I know I had a hand over my heart, too breathless to speak. He seemed too shocked to say anything himself.
When I finally could say something, I said, "Beautiful dog." I could hear Amber saying other things in the background, but I was no longer paying attention to her. I was busy trying to let the two of us on the sidewalk, separated by a panting Happy Dog, salvage some sort of dignity in our encounter. I'm not sure it worked, and that's a shame, because Happy Dog lived just down the street from my family. It would have been nice to be able to go down there and say hi when I visited, but I'm not sure that's going to be possible.
Because, you see, I'm still not really sure that the man's whispered "Thank you!" was because I'd admired Happy Dog--or because I didn't try to take his dog with me as I left him standing there in the flowers surrounding the stop sign.
So how come I never get that?
Even though I am dreading leaving my family after such a short visit, as I walk, I am thinking about getting home to the Sweet Duet. Now, the Sweet Duet used to be The Three Dog Opera and Theatre Company (or more commonly, the 3DOT) until the passing of Shani this past January. The girls have adjusted well, as soon as they found out that I was still the one in charge, but we all miss our Bear.
And when I'm gone, even for a day, I miss the Duet. Dulcie, in particular. Usually I manage to find some kind soul who loves that I'm fussing over their loyal canine friend, and my dog withdrawal is lessened for a bit. Somehow, on this trip, I hadn't had a chance to pet a dog for about 45 hours. (Which may be some kind of record for me. Did I mention my addiction of choice is dog fur?). So during our short walk, I'm starting to long for a dog to pet, ears to rub, chin to scrub. The perfect ending to a wonderful day.
Imagine my delight when just across the street, I spy a cream colored Labradoodle trying with great enthusiasm to convince a short Corgi type dog to play. The LabraDoodle is off leash, though her human is close by. He's unsuccessful in his attempt to stop her from annoying the Corgi, who is on a leash held by a small, confused woman. She's not quite sure of the LabraDoodle's intentions, and is simply trying to get her dog away from all that curly exuberance.
My party continues on toward home base; I cross the street, intent on getting my hands full of Happy Dog. I'm just reaching down, touching Happy Dog's silkiness with my palms when the air is rent with the shout, "NO! YOU CANNOT TAKE THAT DOG HOME WITH YOU!". It's my friend Amber, who in her intention to tease me, sets off a chain reaction that nearly ends in total disaster.
First, I nearly, yes, very nearly wet my pants. Remember, I've just had some of the best tea I've ever seen poured out of a teapot, so I drank several cups of it. But my bladder is smarter than my reptile brain, so it kept things under control. Barely.
Secondly, I snatched my hands off that dog like my mother had caught me snitching her stash of chocolate covered peanuts. Some dark corner of my brain scanned the area for my mother; perhaps she'd followed me there, simply to shout at me. And when Happy Dog felt those hands leave her back, she went after them, leaning all of her considerable weight on me, a wobbly woman who was now concentrating on not peeing herself.
I caught myself before I fell into the flower bed or hit my head on the stop sign post, but it was close. Even with all this going on, I noticed that if I'd been startled, Happy Dog's poor man looked terrified as he reached out to break a possible fall. We shared a look of commiseration; by then I know I had a hand over my heart, too breathless to speak. He seemed too shocked to say anything himself.
When I finally could say something, I said, "Beautiful dog." I could hear Amber saying other things in the background, but I was no longer paying attention to her. I was busy trying to let the two of us on the sidewalk, separated by a panting Happy Dog, salvage some sort of dignity in our encounter. I'm not sure it worked, and that's a shame, because Happy Dog lived just down the street from my family. It would have been nice to be able to go down there and say hi when I visited, but I'm not sure that's going to be possible.
Because, you see, I'm still not really sure that the man's whispered "Thank you!" was because I'd admired Happy Dog--or because I didn't try to take his dog with me as I left him standing there in the flowers surrounding the stop sign.
That's awesome! I love when our crazy friends let strangers into our crazy lives without any explanation. It always reminds me how boring life would be if I was normal when I see the hint of fear behind their eyes.
ReplyDelete