I have plenty of places to walk here in the metroplex of Dallas but none of them safe enough to wander around without a dog.
I need you, my little Skye,
to keep the squirrels and cats at bay while I tramp through the fallen leaves and crackling branches that have found themselves at my feet after several days of high winds.
And if you insist, I also need The Bruiser,
he is so good at chasing off geckos and Gopher Tortoises.
What have we been doing with our empty days without regular turns down the cul-die, strolls up to where the cows chew their cuddish way through the pasturelands (sometimes getting stuck between a rock and a tree trunk, often knee deep in soggy waterlines)
and the morning forced march to the locks, and back?
How do we keep our math skills sharp without the counting of poop bags?
How do we know what day it is without the monthly administration of square cheese with a heartworm tablet chaser?
How do we tell early mornings from elevenses, or afternoons from evenings without wagging tails, deep nappings,
patient waitings at doors or rumbling tummies to distinguish the hours?
How does an evening sink into stillness wherein we can hear the sound of a pin dropping? How do we sleep through the night without the vigilant barks and pawed clatter on wood from our watchdog(s) on the porch protecting us from the night crawlers?
In your absence, pretty Skye, we sit and write, forgetting the passage of time until our backs ache for lack of movement and we yearn for the rhythm of your dog-days.
My yoga mat is empty, lonely for its Yogi-Westie to test it for safety and size,
The cheese grows mold and the pantry has slowly overgrown the space it left for your food.
The treadmill takes me walking through Turkey Creek to Ortona Locks in my mind; I stare at the blank wall and tramp my way to nowhere uninterrupted.
We watch Netflix at the end of the night and miss the excited bounds of your whiteness dancing gracefully to the closing credits reminding us it’s time for the final turn around the cul-die to flush out any intruding armadillos and batten down the hatches.
I am thrilled to see you are now writing I had a hunch you nurtured some hidden talents. I am hoping that skill extends to reading…
Save us a place in your heart because we’ll be back to make up for all the missed walks and cuddles.
In the meantime I’ve found you a hunk! His name is Titan,
He’s a very clever young Schnauzer about your size and single.
As you can see, he enjoys a good nap too!
Don’t let The Bruiser read this bit…he’ll get jealous.
Love to Blake and Fi and be careful not to trip Mike unless you want a quadruple knee replacement!
(Stop laughing, that’s not funny Skye-ster!)
Well hello there! My name is Vivienne McNeny.
I am an empty nester exploring life as a Boomer…you could say I'm happily Boomering along!
As a homeschooling Mum I have finally quit the job of role model and mentor to my four children. I do what I want to do, eat when I feel like it, enjoy life with my blue eyed cowboy and clean my house once a month or so whether it needs it or not!
In true English form I write about the emergence of my true identity now that I can no longer hide behind my children as their Mum.
No comments so far!
Leave a Comment