Today is a bittersweet day for me. It would have been our 24th wedding anniversary.
Lisa wrote the following for her own amusement. She never posted it, but it is a peek into our home life, and another small sample of her creativity and sense of humor. Enjoy this sweet memory!
There’ll be no living with her now...
Today’s post is narrated by one of my dogs, DeeJay. He’s been in our family for five years – we adopted him from the Humane Society. He’s part Flat-Coated Retriever and part ?? … if I had to guess, I would say Border Collie, because he is very intelligent and hyper-vigilant. If he could speak, he would be able to report what anyone in the house is doing at any given time. We call him The Watcher, or Spy Dog. He is BFFs with Pepper, who joined our family about six months before Deej. We call Pepper The Flatulator, or Pepperoni, or any number of nicknames.
The following report details of unusual events in the Wolfson household.
Filed by: DeeJay (aka Dog Johnson, Deacon Jones, Double Juke, DJ)
The Woman and The Boy returned to Base Camp at approximately 1230 hours. They were dressed in loose-fitting martial arts uniforms. The woman reeked of sweat and middle age. The Boy’s scent contained traces of his impending adolescence. He was eating ice cream; I observed him closely.
The Woman opted to eat lunch before her shower, and began pulling aromatic Thai food leftovers from the refrigerator; I observed her closely.
The phone rang as she placed her food in the microwave. The Man answered the phone, and said, “Sure. Here she is.” He handed The Woman the phone.
“Hello,” she said, and I could tell by the way she eyed the microwave that she was more interested in her lunch than the phone call. Then her posture and facial expression communicated: ALERT. She shut off the microwave.
I remained in my position on the floor, but assumed a heightened alertness, in case I needed to sound an alarm or provide protection.
The Woman’s facial expression began to change. I find it difficult to describe, but I would suggest a mixture of crumpling and happiness. She stared at The Man, and he mouthed something to her, which I translated as, “You won?”
She nodded, and I observed a more severe crumpling of her features. She bent over at the waist, and grabbed the back of a chair. Sounds came from her which I could not identify. At first they were choked sobbing sounds which caused me to survey the premises for a possible intruder, but then I discerned a kind of human joy within the sounds.
The Man hugged her and The Boy entered the room. Having been informed by The Man that “Mom won the award,” The Boy proceeded to hug and kiss her.
I did not overhear any comprehensible speech coming from The Woman during this episode, except for fragments which I reproduce as follows:
“I can’t believe it.”
“Thank you so much.”
“I can’t talk, I’m crying.”
“Thank you so much.”
She is normally a human of great loquaciousness, so I was puzzled by her inability to speak. After she hung up the phone, all three of the humans began to make noise and jump around. When they commenced a group hug, my immediate superior – Pepper – bravely entered the fray. He inserted his head between the legs of the three, and they rewarded him with affection.
At this point, I felt it necessary to announce my over-stimulation, so I employed my sharpest bark. I was permitted to enter their circle, and I received my share of affection. I indicated approval by wagging my tail.
Once the stimulation ceased, The Woman began to eat her lunch; I observed her closely. She did not give her food the attention it deserved, however, and shortly thereafter stood up and paced around, then went to the sink and washed dishes. That seemed to calm her.
Apparently the woman had been warned against revealing the nature of the phone to any other humans outside of Base Camp, and I noted that this caused her enormous consternation. Finally, overcome with the need to divulge her news, she told Pepper and me. She cautioned us against telling any of our friends, “not even during Twilight Bark.” I assured her with my steady gaze that she could depend upon my discretion.
The Woman’s jittery energy permeated the premises for the remainder of the day. I took refuge in napping whenever possible. I witnessed her reading, writing, and watching a movie. As dinner time approached, she announced, “The Morris Award winner doesn’t feel like cooking." Then she chortled.
Excellent take-out food was brought into Base Camp by The Man; I observed him closely. A bottle of champagne was opened – Ow! So loud! – and the pack leaders allowed The Boy to enjoy a half-glass of the libation.
After Pepper's and my (woefully belated) dinner and walkies, the Pack retired to bed.
At approximately 0430 hours next morning, The Woman left her bed and went downstairs. I followed, as it is my primary responsibility to ascertain her whereabouts at all times. She lay on the couch in the dark. I settled on the floor next to her.
“The Morris Award winner can’t sleep,” she whispered, stroking my luxuriant fur. I provided silent companionship to her until she did sleep, then I made a circuit of the premises to ensure that all was secure.