I watch the Old Yellow Dog age a little bit every day now. The turnaround spot on our morning walk gets a little closer to home, his turning radius gets a little wider, and the energy to walk across the ceramic tile gets a little more concentrated. So I spend a lot of time waiting for him – to walk with me, to turn around in the doorway, to build up the momentum to cross the floor.
In turn, he spends a few minutes now and then waiting for me – to let him out, to let him in, to bring him dinner, to let him out, to let him in, to make the greyhound move, to let him out, to let him in, to remind him where the water dish sits, to let him out, to let him in, to remind him that I am still in the house, etc..
And he does it with a bold and slightly raspy bark that is demanding and impossible to ignore. I’ve even seen the hint of a stomped foot when my response time doesn’t meet his expectations.
He is consistent and persistent. No need for alarm clocks or roosters at Four Sticks Farm, because Zenga ensures the household is up and at ‘em by 5:50 a.m. Every morning. Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday. 5:50 a.m.
But when I get to the front entry and meet his gaze as he stops barking and starts preparing to navigate the tile, I see a glimmer of joyful anticipation of what’s to come, unbridled enthusiasm for the trip inside or outside (even if it’s the 37th of the day) a meal, a detour around the greyhound, a drink, or the reassurance that he’s not alone.
It is still a beautiful world in Zenga’s old eyes, and I am lucky he’s willing to wait for me.
Even 37 times.
From Four Sticks Farm 