All In A Day

I've taken to wetting Button's breakfast kibble. It makes it much easier for her to eat it. She was always a lazy eater; when she was young I'd had to break up large pieces of kibble before she would deign to eat it. Now, we're using kibble for elderly dogs, (since she's 16 years old), infused with glucosamine, for her joints. Riley eats the same food, though he's 8. He's never been fussy about his food. Put it in front of him and it's gone in an instant, and then he hangs around Button's dish, waiting for her to finish so he can get at the leftovers.

When that happens I have to tarry, to ensure he doesn't persuade her to move away from her dish before she's ready to. It's also why I'm anxious when I give them their summer-monthly Heartworm pills in their food, to make certain that she's eaten everything, including the medication. He'd eat the pills just as they are, but for her I've got to disguise them temptingly in something she really likes and that generally is supplemental to her own food.

Once they're done eating, preparation for our own breakfast gets underway. They tend to hie themselves off close to a window where the morning sun warms one of their many beds placed here and there around the house. Post-breakfast I baked a blueberry pie with an ordinary pastry bottom crust, but with a crumble topping of whole-wheat flour, brown sugar, cinnamon and margarine, and plenty of walnuts. And started a chicken soup.

My husband had gone down early in the morning to let Button out at half-past six, and while downstairs decided to put on a bread for himself, having baked one earlier in the week for me. He enjoys white-type breads like French or Sourdough, while I prefer dark breads infused with all manner of seeds. On our ravine walk later in the morning, it felt beautifully cool at first, once we dipped into the ravine, and had the benefit of the shade.

We saw a lovely little garter snake, seemingly unperturbed at our presence, taking his time slithering from the side of the trail deeper into the underbrush. It never fails to amaze us that neither of our two little dogs have ever indicated that they've noticed a snake on those rare occasions when we see them there. They are quite aware of the squirrels and taking note of their presence are wont to give chase, but lackadaisically.

After our ravine jaunt we left Button and Riley securely at home and set off to fulfill a number of small errands, after which we did our weekly food shopping. Turned into quite the expedition, going from one place to another; a detestable waste of perfectly good time. But we had to go to the bank, had to pick up our elderly multivitamins, had to drop by a (big box store that shall go unnamed) to take advantage of a sale on underwear.

Mind, I sat in the car, while my husband went into the store for the underwear, even though half of the search was for underwear for me. He's perfectly capable of selecting them, as well as those for himself. And then it was on to the supermarket, where we paced one another, conferred, selected and tarried far too long. I'm the one who does the packing at the check-out counter; we've got three largish plastic boxes for that purpose.

He's the one with the money, and he jokes with the cashier, and doles out the cash. And then hauls the plastic carriers into the house from the car, on arrival home. There was a message from our grandchild. When I returned her call a momentous bit of information was conveyed to me. She had, she solemnly said, finished her latest novel, "My Sister's Keeper". She'd kept me abreast of the story line as she read the book, and now, sigh, finito.

A grave and impressive accomplishment. Not really, she's an omnivorous reader, and I'm glad she's read a book like that; enough with all those vampire novels. She's had a copy of "To Kill a Mocking Bird" for far too long, without yet reading it. It was her choice, yet she keeps selecting other books to read. She has developed an interesting trait, from her grandfather. Like him, she takes great pains to communicate to me the details of the characters and the plot of any book she's involved with.

She likes to discuss the meaning of things, to offer her opinion and how she was affected, for example, by the testimonials of one character or another. And she draws meaning from what she perceives, and seeks my opinion, as well. So it’s quite the intellectual/emotional operation. She has decided not to take up another book to read right away, to give herself a little bit of space before she embarks on another journey of the imagination.

At least until the following day. She has another book by the same author, but she has resisted the temptation to begin it, just yet. Reasoning that she was still invested with the narrative of the one she’s just completed, and that would be distracting to getting her mind wrapped into a new adventure of the mind. Reasonable enough.