So this morning it’s off at 5:30 to M’jihito’s house. His luggage, his dog, and he are piled into my car, in that order. Thence, to the airport, where the son and the luggage were unloaded. And now Charley the Golden Retriever is here at my house for a week.
Charley and Pup are hilarious, because Pup brings out the two-year-old Charley’s lingering latent puppitude. Around Ruby, Charley is still, unmistakably, a puppy. A great deal of frolicking takes place, and much mischief is plotted.
One of their Looney Tunes schticks has to do with food. They both love it. They both desire it. They both require it. And neither one can stand to see the other get it.
Pup gets fed inside an X-pen so that Cassie can’t take her food away from her, but a glance at Charley and a glance at the X-pen will tell you that the contraption is too feeble to keep him out. Another scheme had to be contrived. As soon as I opened Ruby’s can of expensive urinary tract prescription dog food, Charley knew something was up. He was beside himself with excitement. No way a bowl of the stuff was going to get on the floor without him inhaling it
HUMAN: Come on this way, Charley!
HUMAN walks down the hall.
CHARLEY and RUBY follow human.
CASSIE flies up the hall and dodges into the bedroom.
HUMAN: You stay, Ruby.
RUBY ignores HUMAN but is muscled aside by CHARLEY, who strong-paws his way into the bedroom.
HUMAN dodges out the door and closes it before RUBY can squeeze in.
HUMAN: Dog food, Ruby!
RUBY races toward kitchen, a bundle of joy. CHARLEY slams self against door in despair.
Heeeee! He’s a nice dog. But not the brightest rhinestone on the fancy collar.
Speaking of Looney Tunes, I called the gynecologist’s office to be sure I understood correctly that the radiology department would call me to make an appointment for the pending torture sessions. After punching through two punchabutton nuisances, I get stuck on hold. And hold…and hold…and hold…and hold…and hold…and hold…and hold… This wouldn’t be so annoying if one could wait on the damn phone in SILENCE. But noooo…they have to subject you to vomitous muzak and endlessly annoying blather advertising the many services they would like to persuade you that you need. After a good ten minutes on hold — I’ve answered e-mail, posted an announcement on my class’s Canvas site, unloaded the dishwasher, and am reloading the washer with new dirty dishes — the phone rings through and someone answers and the first words out of her mouth are “WILL YOU HOLD, PLEASE?”
Well, no, thank you.
How much, again, are you folks charging Medicare for this?