My family hadn’t been gone long. At least it didn’t seem long, though I have to admit, a nap never seems long unless I wake up with my joints stiff. My job is to be awake when they walk in the door, to bark and sniff and bounce about with “eager enthusiasm,” a job I’ve always enjoyed though it seems like a lot of effort these days.
When our minivan reaches the crest of the small hill before our house, it’s as if the noise suddenly turns on, like a doggie alarm-clock. Time to get up and say hello.
They hadn’t been gone long and the whole family went together, even though it wasn’t Sunday morning. Yes, we do know what day it is, not so much the names of the days as the patterns. Monday morning is a kid and parent scramble with backpacks and lunches. Breakfast is scheduled for efficiency rather than fellowship: each person eats breakfast when he is ready for it. On Saturdays, though, everybody moves about as fast as a pile of sleepy puppies. Sundays are in between, not so much scramble, no backpacks, but I can always tell a Sunday by the shoes, stiff and shiny and without any good people fragrance.
Going outside when they arrive is also normal, outside to do my “business.” Shouldn’t they realize that it is easier for a guy my age to hold it for a few extra hours than it is to stumble down the deck stairs to the lawn? Dad didn’t take me to the back yard, though, and that was weird. Nice weird; the joints are particularly stiff after a good long nap.
Dad took me to the front yard. Mom was there, too, and the boys, Daniel and Thomas. Mom yelled, “Tynie, Come. Come meet your new friend.” Of course I came because when I was a pup Dad (or sometimes mom) spent a half hour every evening walking up and down in the road in front of our house saying “heel” and “stay” and “sit” and “come.” There was a new smell, near mom. “Come,” she said again, just because I was a little slow getting there.
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