Surviving

Feeling the warmth of the sun on a cloudy day. A glimpse into a blind billy goat's unique, ever changing perspectives.

10 03 11 Up And Atom October 3, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — DP Lyons @ 5:26 pm
Again I roll over in the bed.
The light coming in through the curtains of the sliding door in the bedroom is getting brighter by the minute, and I can hear the blue jays and crows outside. It must be around 6 o’clock? I left my talking wristwatch out in the kitchen. I can’t wake my wife up to see what time it is. She is sleeping so soundly, and it just wouldn’t be fair.
I might as well get up. I will never get back to sleep now anyway.
Now, my shorts and shirt should be right about, cold nose, wet tongue, “Oh hi Coco. Good girl. Hang on, you’ll get your turn in a few minutes.” Now, where are my clothes? Oh, there they are, all covered in dog hair. How lovely, a home made mo-hair suit.
I make my way from the bedroom to the living room, closing the door behind me, and presto, a lick on my hand from Deena. “Hi sweetie pie. You sleep good? How you feeling this morning?”
Thirty seconds of petting my Deena girl, and out in the kitchen with her. Close the door, and back to the bedroom door to let Coco out into the living room. If I leave her in the bedroom, she will jump up on the bed and wake the Mrs. She likes to jump on the bed and nestle against my pillow to soak up my smell. She is such a good horse/dog. “Out in the living room with you sweetie.” I grab her food bowl, put her in the living room, and close the bedroom door. Walking through the living room I reach down and grab Deena’s food bowl, and leave the living room for the kitchen. I can not let the two dogs together because Deena hates Coco and would like very much to kill her, or a close facsimile thereof.
As I go out into the kitchen, closing the door behind me, I put the two dog food bowls onto the kitchen table. What the heck is? Oh, yum, dog hair in my mouth. No thanks.  Deena is tapping across the linoleum floor, waiting for me to take her out to the pen. I call her TT because of the tap tap noise when she walks across the floor. I need to hit the bathroom myself, but I need to find out, “Hello Moshee.” I say.
“Hello, command please.” The alarm clock on the shelf in the kitchen talks back to me.
“Time.” I say to her sultry digital voice.
“The time is, six twelve A M.” She says back to me.
I think to myself, “Another day has started.” As I enter the bathroom. I can hear the blue jays and the crows again, from outside the bathroom window. We call the blue jays; clothes line birds, because they make a sound similar to the pulleys on our clothes line. Really.
I exit the bathroom, and Deena taps her way over to the cellar door, waiting for me patiently. I open the cellar door, and we enter the cellar way. One more door, and we are out in the garage, And she bounds down the stairs onto the garage floor. The cats all start stirring, as they are happy to see Deena. She nuzzles a few of them on her way to the back door of the garage. Slowly I step down the stairs onto the garage floor. I look for the sunlight shining through the back window onto the freezer on my right as I go down the stairs. No sunshine coming in through just yet. The sun is coming up later every morning now. Fall is surely heading our way. I stop to pet a couple of the cats that are on the shelves behind the bird seed locker near the back door. Searching around on the floor, I find my shoes, and feel inside them with my hands. Good. There are no dead mice in my shoes. It is going to be a good day. I have to call Deena over to the door. She is rooting around, over behind the bureau on the other side of the garage. I think she smells a chipmunk or a mouse. She finally comes over to the door so I can put her leash on her.
I have to make a loud “PSSSSST” sound to scare the cats away from the back door, as Deena and I exit the garage. The sun still isn’t up yet. I can see the faint lines and shadowy silhouettes of the trees in the back yard in contrast against the pre-dawn eastern sky, as we make our way to the door of the dog pen. There is a rope tied from the garage to the pen door so that I can use it for a guide on the mornings when my sight is non existent. I do not need it this morning. I can make out the shiny steel of the door frame of the pen. Deena pulls to the right as we walk to the pen. She smells something again. Probably the stray cat that Lynne has seen a few times hovering around the house.
We make it to the pen, and I let her in. I can see her fluffy, curly, tan tail as she walks away from me and across the pen to the other side.
As I close the pen door, and make my way back to the garage, I hear the next door neighbor’s rooster crowing. I turn and notice that the sun is finally starting to poke its glaring head up over the line of trees to the east. The old rooster got it right again.
Back in the garage I go, and grabbing the juice pitcher on top of the locker, I open the door and fill the pitcher from the bag of black oil seed in the locker.
Back out I go, and hang a left to go over to the bird feeder by the corner of the dog pen. The morning doves scatter as I head for the hanging feeder. I have a hard time seeing the black cast iron feeder pole that the feeder is hanging from. I finally catch a glimpse and grab hold of the feeder, uncapping and filling it. It is half empty. Little guys were hungry yesterday. I check the suet cage. It is still full of suet, so I start to the other feeder on the kitchen window. I spread seed on the ground as I walk to the window, leaving enough seed to put some in the kitchen window feeder. The window feeder is empty as it can be, and I have just enough seed left in the pitcher to fill the tray. From the looks of it, the woodpecker was busy yesterday, as there is all kinds of seed scattered along the window sill. The little bugger kicks and makes a fuss when he is feeding, throwing seed all over the place. The chickadees and blue jays like the window feeder as well. The seed that I threw on the ground is usually gobbled up by the morning doves, cardinals, finches and the starlings. Also the chipmunks and squirrels devour lots of the ground seed too.
Back around the corner of the house, and I can hear the turkey’s way out back at the end of the corn field about a half mile away. I think back to one of our old dogs, Barkley, who had a craving for the bold, wholesome taste of turkey poop, back in his hay day. Can you picture it? I will pause here, so that you may be able to fully appreciate the intricacies of the situation. Got it? Have I allocated enough time so that you may build a wonderful panoramic image in your mind? Good then, because mine has been lodged firmly in my mind for a number of years now. .
I pause, smile, and into the garage I go, placing the juice pitcher back on top of the seed locker. I can see faint glimpses of shadows moving across the garage floor, similar to a herd of bison slowly making their way across the prairies of the Midwest. The cats are on the move, so I stop to pet whichever ones will come up to me.
Time to get the paper, so I go out the front door of the garage, and out onto the front patio. I can hear the crows across the street in the birch trees. They call to each other in unison, up and down the road. As far as you can hear, there is the call of a crow. These watchers of the day seem to direct the traffic on the ridge, with order and authority. I dare not question their judgment, as I can’t see far enough to trust my own.
I slowly make my way down the driveway, around the car, and down to the end, near the road. As I get closer to the end of the driveway, I can see the Wal-Mart blue newspaper box on the pole beside the mailbox. It is one of the colors that I still can see pretty well.
Yup, paper’s here, and it isn’t in a plastic bag. That usually means that it will not rain today, which usually makes me smile. I do love to feel the sun on my face, and when it makes me squint, it reminds me that I still can see just a little, which is usually just enough.
Back to the house I go, swinging the newspaper out in front of me to warn me where the car is located. I would rather not walk into the car today. Tomorrow, maybe, but not today.
As I work around the car, and back to the patio, I look up and I can make out the light pole on the south peak of the garage roof against the blue, early morning sky. It bids me a fair morning as I make it back to the patio and into the garage once again.
I set the paper on top of the upright freezer, and check to see if May the cat is on top of the freezer. She is, and I pet her for a minute. She purrs and does her usual chubby kitty growl when I tickle her spine with a good rub. Keekee the cat meows at me from the top of the boot box, and so I make my way over to the box and pet her. She usually falls down and sprawls out on her back while I pet her. I call her my flop cat.
Time for Deena to come back in, and for Coco to go out now, so I go to the back garage door, where pepper the cat is waiting, trying to sneak outside. I stop and pet him, picking him up and placing him on top of the seed locker. He weighs a ton, and is such a sneak, just like his father, my Billy boys.
I make a “PSSSST” sound again to scare the cats away from the back door, and exit quickly out into the back yard. The sun is up full now, smacking me head on in the face as I step out through the door. The doves scatter once again as I make my way to the dog pen. Deena is barking in the far corner. I think she hears the neighbor kids out waiting for the school bus. I wonder what she is trying to say to them.
I call her over to the gate, and put her leash back on her. I can not let her loose in the yard, because she will take off in a flash. Back to the garage we go, and once inside, Deena says hello once again to all of the cats.
We make our way back over to the steps inside. Deena meets me on the steps for her rub down. The continuing saga of the rituals of a dog and her owner. I start to go up the steps, and remember the newspaper. I go back and reach up to grab it from the top of the freezer, and May the cat has taken up residency on top of it. What is it about cats and newspapers? And cardboard boxes too for that matter?
I push the little miss fatty off the paper, and Deena and I head back into the kitchen. I have to put Deena into the laundry room, close the door, and then open up the living room. Coco the horse dog plows through me and into the kitchen. She whines as she circles by the garage door, waiting for me. She sounds like a bottle rocket when she whines.
I set the newspaper on the recliner in the living room, and then Coco and I go out into the garage. She plows and barrels once again, as we enter the garage. The cats scatter, and run for shelter, as she takes full control of the garage, and it’s contents. For the time being, this is her domain, and she wants all the peasants of the kingdom to be fully aware of this fact.
After she is fully content in knowing that all of the room’s inhabitants have shown her majesty their allegiance, she proudly heads for the back garage door like a conquering hero, and signals me with another rounding rendition of bottle rockets on parade.
I open the door, and out she goes. I can let her into the back yard on her own, because she is scared to leave the property. With all her bravery and dominance around the house, she is like a scared little kid when she hears or sees anything out of the ordinary around the perimeter of the yard. It is a sight to see her majesty cowering and acting like a scared little puppy dog, all ninety-five pounds of her. Quite the transformation indeed.
I close the door and hurry as fast as my vision allows, back into the kitchen to quickly prepare their food. A scoop of pedigree, a scoop of kibble, a little more kibble, and just a little more kibble. The food bowls are all set, so now I let Deena back into the living room. The tournament of bowls parade usually takes two and a half minutes, barring any complications.
“There you go my Deena girl. I will be right back.”
Back into the garage once again to let little miss bottle rocket back in. She is waiting for me by the back door, like she always does. She pounds in through the garage, and leaps up onto the porch, skipping all four steps. I don’t see any cats stirring, and I don’t wonder why.
Through two doors and back into the kitchen we go. She spins around as soon as I get into the kitchen. I know what she wants.
Over to the dog food closet I go. One milk bone for you, and another in my pocket for my Deena girl. I stop and ask, “Hello Moshee.”
I wait for the response, “Hello, command please.” She says back to me.
“Time.” I say.
“The time is, six forty-six A M.” She says back to me in her sexy sultry digital voice.
Coco tries to get me to give her another treat. She goes to the middle of the floor, just in front of me, and drops and turns on her back with her horse legs sticking up in the air. She has assumed the position. She is my, “Stop, Drop, and Flop” dog. This trick has worked a few times in the past, but these days, she has to get up pretty early in the afternoon to fool this old fool. I grab Deena’s food bowl off the table, and head into the living room again.
She meets me just inside the door, and I know what she wants too.
“Here you go sweetie.” I reach into my pocket and give her a treat, which she takes over to her bed to eat. I grab her water bowl and head back out into the kitchen. Over to the sink to fill it up. I set it on the counter, and go over to get Coco’s water bowl, filling that one up too. I set Coco’s down in the corner, and grab Deena’s, returning to the living room with it. Down on the floor beside her food bowl it goes.
I give her another good pet, and then head back out into the kitchen. Coco is eating her food when I enter the kitchen. I pet her on the head as I walk by, then I stop in the middle of the kitchen floor.
I pause and reflect, and then I pull out another dog hair from my mouth.
Now then, where was I?
           
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One Response to “10 03 11 Up And Atom”

  1. Abbie Taylor Says:

    If you can get up at six a.m., more power to you. This is why we don't have dogs or cats. Here in Wyoming, it doesn't start to get light until around seven. On the days when the home health care aide is scheduled to come and give Bill his shower, the alarm rings at sixthirty, and when I wake up in the darkness, the first thing I sayh to Bill is, "Oh, God, I don't want to get up."If you think turkey poop is bad, when I was growing up, we had an Irish setter who loved to roll in cow pies and fish heads. Needless to say, none of us wanted to be around him after he had engaged in any of these activities. We also had a cat who loved to climb into Mother's lap and lie on the book she was reding. The cat never did that to me when I had aBraille book in my lap, but maybe she figured the dots would be too uncomfortable. Anyway, I enjoyed your post. Please keep writing.Abbie Johnson Taylor, Author of We Shall Overcomehttp://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.comhttp://abbiescorneroftheworld.blogspot.com


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