I saw the white-tailed deer from the park path — about 20 seconds before the dog did. It was a doe with her two (now almost fully grown) fawns. They’ve made frequent trips up the street to our house since Autumn so we sort of know each other now.
The dog goes completely nuts every time he sees them — as he was this time. He pulled the leash so hard that I had to lean back to hold on. The deer, seeing that the dog wasn’t going anywhere, walked calmly on. I watched while the dog yanked relentlessly on his leash, making whimpering “I-can’t-breathe-but-I-don’t-care-because-holy-crap-there’s-deer-there’s-deer-there’s-deer” noises. The doe let her offspring go first, then she turned around and slowly lifted her tail, swinging her hips just a little bit more than deer usually do, before disappearing into the trees.
It couldn’t have been clearer if she was talking: “Uh huh. That’s right, dog. You can’t get me. Y’all can just kiss my fuzzy white butt!”
The child’s salad bar art…. Meet Fred. Fred was overjoyed to be put together on the plate. He finally felt happy, confident… complete. He watched with wonder as the restaurant ceiling raced past, as did a few friendly faces. Fred wondered if they would like him if they would — just for a moment — stop to talk to him. Then he felt himself tip slightly and come to a rest. Everyone at the table leaned in. There were “ohhs” and “ahhs” all around and photos were taken. Fred felt as if he was the salad king of the world! He puffed up as much as his edemome cheeks would allow… And then he heard it — the words that put everything terrifyingly into perspective:
“I think I’ll eat his eyes first.”
He’s been like this since 9:30 in the morning when the sun hit the couch. He’s just been moving from sunny spot to sunny spot.
I think I have a solar powered dog.
“Mommy….” The child scurries up to me and grabs my arm. “Mommy,” she whispers fearfully, burying her face into my coat, “There’s a zombie doll on the other side of the wall.”
(Freaky creepy “coming-of-the-zombie-apocalypse” doll found at the Heart of Ohio Antique Mall in Springfield, OH.)
The child let me sleep an extra hour. It was glorious. I reveled in that lovely wake-up-slowly, it-the-weekend fuzz.
The child was patiently watching a movie in the next room.
It is Christmas Eve morning. I am at my parent’s house. I am on vacation.
The child and I creep down into the quiet house. I beeline to the garage to get my morning “cold caffeine”.
*beep* *beep* *beep*
“Mom,” the child asks quietly, “what is that?”
I stare at the soft, green, glowing box beside the door. “It’s the alarm system, sweetie.”
“Do you know how to turn it off?”
“Ummm….”
“Mom?”
I ignore her and rack my brain. Right! Dad gave me the code last time I visited.
*beep* *beep* *beep*
I get into my phone and the encrypted database where I keep passwords and codes. My thumb keeps slipping off the buttons.
*beep* *beep* *beep*
The beeps are coming faster now. Scrolling through the list. Why do I have so many passwords? Ah! Here it is!
*beep* *beep* *beep* The beeps are coming fast and furious, then changed into something akin to an munchkin duck having its tailfeathers removed by a vacuum cleaner.
“Mom?”
Punch in the code. The angry duck stops. I breathe a sigh of relief. Now I can get finally my soda.
I go into the garage, the child blathering happily beside me, and open the box of sodas up on the high shelf. The child asks me a question and I look away for just a moment — a fraction of a moment, really.
*thump* *thump* *thump* *thump* *thump* *thump* *thump* *thump*
A shimmering, silver stream of soda cans start rolling out of the box, down around my shoulders, and then roll happily around the garage, rejoicing in their sudden, unexpected freedom. The child dances around cheering. I open my arms and embrace the chaos.
It Is, after all, Christmas Eve morning.
Talking about a friend of mine….
“Oh! I liked her!” said the child.
“Well, she’s friends with me on Facebook,” I said. “Do you want to draw a picture? I’ll send it to her.”
The child rolls her eyes and looks at me, exasperated. “Mom,” she said patiently. “I can’t draw a picture. I’m not wearing pants!”
Father and daughter bond over magic-decoder-ring messages that I can’t read. The dog wanders under the table pitifully squeaking his dying squeak toy.
Squeak. Squeak. Sqeeeee… thfth.
And again … squeak, sqeethfth….
Squee… thfth… thfth … thfthhhh.
The message that emerges from the decoder ring? “Please stop the dog.”
