Tuesday, January 10, 2017

I Don't Speak Dog Apparently

I learned something important about myself this week. I don't speak dog-go. I'm officially an old cat lady.

Seriously, I did alright with the dog, but there were rough moments, like when she would start whining and barking and I would have no clue why. There was water, food and I'd just walked her. She's just relieved herself. She didn't want to play with her toys. I could not always figure out what was going on in her canine mind.

Which was somewhat frustrating. I was afraid the neighbors might be annoyed by all the barking.

Kind of like dealing with a baby, a fragile critter without much in the way of communication skills.

But I think she was simply missing her mom and dad.

Cats I get. I understand the body language, the meowing, the behavior. Well, most of the behavior. Even I get stumped occasionally, like when Kiki decided suddenly a few weeks ago to start greeting me in the morning by jumping up on the master bathroom sink while I was peeing, sauntering over to the toothbrush holder and casually chewing on Jim's toothbrush.

He's 17 years old and has some odd behaviors, like coming running every time I use a blow dryer and watching intently and he likes to do somersaults down the staircase when he's happy to see you. But this toothbrush chomping was a new thing. I don't know if it's the minty taste of leftover toothpaste on the brush, or the texture of the bristles but after trying a bunch of things to discourage him I finally gave up, left Jim's old toothbrush in the holder and hung a new toothbrush way up out of his reach on a new hook next to the mirror. Kiki's old, let him have the wornout toothbrush.

I never did get around to quilting on my dog sitting five days. Actually I ended up doing piles of laundry. I was dog sitting for my daughter, the one that works at a local university full time while working on her masters degree. She has no time for anything. Her brother and roommates who share the place with her all work long hours. Once I went downstairs to the laundry room in their townhouse and saw the overflowing baskets and boxes I decided that the least I could do to help them out was do the large backlog of laundry, washing, drying, folding. Filled the loveseats and fainting sofa in the basement rec room with folded fresh clothing, towels and bedding. I was glad to do it and help them out. They work so hard and such long hours.

Did a little other cleaning and spent most of the time much more time physically active running up and down flights of stairs. Feeling physically well for a rare change. Tired now that I'm home and having to do my own mountain of laundry and start to pack for Costa Rica.

Did a little shopping at my favorite stores and scored a big bargain. A packable down filled puffer jacket. Rolls and squishes down to a tiny light package.

Another travel worry gone. We leave on the 24th as soon as the house sitter arrives and the 24th in the D.C. area is usually as blisteringly cold as this last weekend where the high was a balmy 22 degrees. When we arrive in Costa Rica it will be in the 90s. That's the only big drag about flying from one extreme to the other. I was sweating over the idea of how to dress and pack. If I dress for Costa Rica I'm going to be shivering on the train to the airport, but if I dress for our weather I'm going to be dragging along a heavy coat. This little light coat solves my problem. Even better I got it on final clearance.

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