Bess went with me to The Cookie Store (aka the feed store). The owners keep an open box of milk bones for the furry ones who ride shotgun, and I always take two (they're small) when my girl travels with me. Bessie wiggles on the seat when I come back to the truck and sniffs to check that I remembered her goodies. I have, in the past, forgotten and had to go back in, explaining that my dog wouldn't let me get back in the vehicle without treats. The funny thing is that I put her cookies on the console between us and she won't touch them, not until we get back home. She'll jump out of the truck and whirl around to receive one milk bone at a time. She eats the first one and takes the second one off to bury. Goofy dog.
Like it or not, I had to go to town later in the day. The truck was overdue for an oil change so, having a few extra minutes, I stopped in at the oil change store. Sitting down to wait, I was next to a lady with a little blond Frenchie (French bulldog, the kind with the big bat ears), four months old. What started with a lick on the hand became a puppy in my lap. Puppy discovered the brass buttons on my go-to-town bibbies and had a wonderful time until her mama had to leave. There's nothing in the world like puppy breath.
At Wally World, I knew I had to break down and buy some new socks (aarrgh). Wending my way through the unfamiliar territory of ladies wear, I passed a display of nightshirts (I guess they call them nightgowns). With the recent drop in temperature, the flannel ones looked pretty good to me and, wait for it...I bought one! Had to laugh at the memory of the first Christmas after I'd married the Kids' dad at eighteen. Both mothers gave me nightgowns that year. My mother's gift was a floor-length, high-necked, long-sleeved flannel gown. His mother gave me a set of see-through baby-doll pajamas. Hmmm. Differing aims, I think.
Three stores in one day. I was exhausted.