I had hoped that as the years went by, he might bend on the subject...or at least lean.
But to this day, it’s: "When are you coming home?" followed by "Don't bring those dogs!"
Though I now live just down the hill from them, when I lived over an hour away, it was very difficult to visit and not have to rush home to make sure my kids were taken care of. The one time I tried to cut corners and bring them along to Grandma and Grand pa’s--it didn't work out so well.
A few years ago, we went to spend a day with my folks. Because Charlie was 3 months old, and Lucy was just over a year, I decided they were too young to spend a full day alone. So, we took them along with us, thinking, "What can they possibly hurt?"
The folks weren't happy that the dogmatic duo was present, but tried to be pleasant.
We spent the day sitting out under the elm tree. Charlie and Lucy were both on retractable leashes and behaved very well. It was a nice, uneventful day.
Then Momma mentioned supper.
My dogs are just as country as I am; knowing darn well that SUPPER means food will be made available and in mass quantities. They were ready to roll!
Daddy didn't see it that way. "Don't you think your bringin' them dogs in the house" he said.
I wound Charlie's leash around a porch post, and Lucy's around the elm tree, deciding I could eat quickly and come back. Charlie settled down in the grass for a nap, but Lucy was inconsolable. Separation anxiety issues have always been Lucy’s way of telling us that she can’t live without us---and a valium.
As we filed thru the aluminum storm door, the sounds of wailing and crying were filtering through its raised screen window.
Momma was in the kitchen, Daddy had gone to wash up, and Better Half and I were setting the table. Suddenly there was a huge BANG! I ran to the back door to see what had happened.
There, in a tangle of wire mesh and aluminum was Lucy.
She had snapped her leash, pushed the screen of the door through with her front paws, and was now stuck: head and shoulders inside and butt dangling outside. She was kicking like a mule, trying to get herself in, and each kick to the aluminum bottom was like an explosion of thunder.
I could only imagine the explosion my Daddy would have when he saw my dog teetering back and forth in his door. It was the only time I was grateful that his hearing wasn’t what it used to be. He would have killed Lucy and then ME!
I set a new speed record: smacking the frame together, slipping the wire back into it with my pocket knife, and getting it back into the door before Daddy entered the kitchen.
We quickly sat and ate. As soon as we finished, I made a comment on how late it was, packed up the hounds of hell and sped off.
After the screen door incident, there were no visits to Grandma and Grandpa from the pets. They would rather lie at home and watch TV anyway.
All and all it worked out for the best.
To this day, my Daddy doesn't know that not only was there a dog in his house.
It’ll be our little secret.
No comments:
Post a Comment