I'm becoming quite a social butterfly. Thursday was a date with the Ladies, yesterday I had lunch with my friend Harold, and today I'm meeting up with Dave and the Freed Spirits at Poor Red's. (Monday I see another of my doctors, but not looking forward to that.)
All this leaving home has Bessie Anne depressed. When I'm here, we're never far apart. Even though she spends most of her time sleeping now, she needs to be close and preferably in contact with me. If I'm in my chair, Bess prefers to be in my lap or lying with her head on my foot. When I'm at the computer as I am now, she crawls into the knee hole of the desk and her head warms my bare foot. She has difficulty walking without slipping on the kitchen floor, but comes just inside the doorway to watch. When she wants to go outside, we're supposed to go together (according to her rules). If I'm busy, I must at least step out the door before she'll go out, but she'll accept it if I go no farther. The best, of course, is when we go together. Bessie has cataracts in both of her beautiful brown eyes, but I know she still has some vision. It's her hearing that is gone. Sometimes when she has been out on her own and comes to either the kitchen or dining room doors, if I'm at the other and call her, she doesn't respond until I stamp my foot on the deck. She can feel the vibration and come to me. Calling her is useless. She no longer hears a car drive up or the coyotes on the hill. Bess depends more and more on familiar routines and I go along with her program. It's the least I can do for my little friend.
Like the butterflies, I've got places to flit to and I'd best get started. We're burning daylight here.