Odie's Dilemma

Yesterday afternoon our granddaughter telephoned after school, informed me there were only thirteen more days left in the school year - their teacher had so informed her class. And the following day is that beloved child's thirteenth birthday. She wanted to tell me that she had discovered something quite amusing. Her guinea pig Odie had latterly been signalling an increased appetite and she and her mother had taken to feeding him twice as much as usual, wondering how it was he gained no weight.

The mystery was cleared up the day before our conversation when Angelyne noticed that Katie, the small brown female rabbit whose cage is right adjacent to Odie's perked up appreciably at Odie's feeding time and leaped daintily over to where the action was, to thrust her head into the too-small space of the cage bars to gain her opportunity to avail herself of the little pig's food. They had noticed that Katie appeared to be gaining weight. Now that Odie's food dish has been moved to a spot that will be inconvenient for Katie to access, she will regain her ideal weight.

And last night, intrigued by the quality and the beauty of the photographs I had taken of the backyard, I thought I'd do the same with the front gardens. So out I went, camera in hand, wearing my dressing gown and slippers, to snap away. It is quite simply amazing what these little digital cameras are capable of producing. I'm wedded to my camera at least as much as I am to my computer. Each gives satisfaction, complementing the other.

And now the day of our 54th wedding anniversary is over, gone, never to be repeated in this lifetime. We're still pledged and committed to one another, despite the passage of another day, leveraging us into our 55th year of marriage. That tired old observation of fleeting time is quaintly true in our experience. Where has all that time gone? A lifetime of sharing and companionship, raising three children to capable adulthood, and continuing to discover all that the world yet has in store for us.

This morning Button jolted us, as is her wont, into the reality of our duties to her as the head of household. She barked and whined piteously to have us rise from our warm and oh so comfortable bed. She's the independent one, who no longer deigns to sleep at the end of our bed as she had done for so many years. In her dotage, she feels the need of her own bed, one where our stray feet will never interrupt her sleep. So she adopted the velvet-upholstered loveseat in our bedroom which is almost as elderly as our marriage, as her own. Riley, unperturbed by the demands Button makes, sleeps peacefully under the blankets. Button impatiently gives us our breakfast orders, to haul ourselves out of bed and do our duty.

Which we did, eventually, manage to do, albeit not quite accommodatingly. As penance she was forced to eat, after her normal breakfast, tiny tidbits of the bacon and eggs that we had for breakfast. Riley forced himself too, to shuffle along obligingly toward his treat dish, and inhale the minuscule portions he was allotted. And then they left us in peace. To have our honeydew and banana, our bacon and eggs, toast and coffee/tea, unmolested. Reading the newspapers, listening to the radio. Despite our decrepit agedness, we are more than capable of double-tasking.

Then on to face the day, with a ravine walk where we were finally able to walk the trails unheeding of muddy portions, since they've finally dried up. A brisk breeze kept the mosquitoes at bay, and we very much appreciated that, preferring not to use chemicals if it can be avoided. It was early enough and not yet too warm to allow us long sleeves and that helped, as well. Under the main bridge over the creek the water striders crazily pitched themselves back and forth. The dogwood shrubs are full of their flat-bundled floral offerings and buttercups are appearing everywhere now.

Robins were busy in there as well, as many in the trees as there were on the trails, striding quickly and purposefully from one side of the trail to the other; funny how robins seem to enjoy locomoting. And a woodpecker - from the sound of his incessant call, most likely a middling-sized one; a hairy woodpecker - called from some tree top, reminding us of when we were children going to afternoon film matinees, eagerly awaiting the cartoon shorts of Woody Woodpecker and his ah-ah-ah-ah-ah! call.