What About Me?

Bessie Anne lies on the bed behind me while I'm "working" at the computer.  She evidently looked over my shoulder to read yesterday's entry about Celeste and got her feelings hurt.  Big brown puppy-dog eyes looked into mine, "What about me, Mom?  I was your girl first.  You could write something about me, too."  She must have missed that she gets mentioned nearly every day as we go about our in-and-out routines.  That, or she's just feeling needy.  Bess is more than a little jealous of the cats anyway because they get more lap time than she.

Bessie has quirks of her own and they're becoming more pronounced as she becomes a senior citizen.  The family all know now that when she asks to go out, she wants company and stands waiting for the door opener to take a step outside.  That's all it takes, just one step works for her and she'll go on alone while the person is free to step back into the house.  Whatever it takes, I guess.

Our mornings begin exactly the same way every day (every day).  Nothing happens for cats or dog until I've got my coffee going.  My house, my rule.  Then I put breakfast in their bowls and check the water dish.  Bessie comes to the dining room door and waits.  She waits for a milk bone, which she gets every morning.  Just one and, being the lady she is, she takes it into the dining room to eat.  Then she goes around to the hallway door and waits.  She waits for one soft treat from the treat drawer.  I have no idea why the two doors, but it's her ritual.

As a puppy, she had to have several surgeries and subsequent follow-up visits with the vet.  She was prone to car-sickness, as well, for awhile.  Since her experience riding in the truck only led to the House Of Pain, Bess was reluctant to even get in the truck.  To help her overcome her fear, when we got home I'd give her a lamb stick treat.  Now she expects a lamb treat even if we just went down to the mailbox.  I keep a supply of those on hand only for truck rides.

My girl is on the bed behind me and I hope this has satisfied her.  Ralph has gotten enough front page coverage, and he's too busy to care much, anyhow.

On a dead run to get to an appointment yesterday, I did not get the windshield wipers replaced.  Coming out later, I discovered, for the first time in years, I had locked the keys in the truck.  While waiting for Triple-A to come to my rescue, I could have used that time to install the wipers but, of course, the new set was in the truck.  I dodged the bullet because only a light mist fell on the way home.  It's raining today, and too wet to work on the truck.  Sigh.