Okay, the title is a bit overdramatic. But yesterday morning I had pretty good evidence of the deterioration of my mental faculties, or at least my perception.
As my son left for work, his dog, Rocco, came to visit me, as he does every morning. It was that time for the daily routine. He wanted to go for a walk in the neighborhood so that he can do what dogs normally do on walks.
Rocco likes sniffing everything and everywhere. He leaves his scent as if a calling card or a territorial proclamation for other neighborhood pets. Then, finally arriving at that perfect place to drop0off a few pups, I turn away with some indifference and respect for his privacy even out in the open, plastic bag stretched over my hand to wait. Afterwards, I dutifully pick up the evidence of his business transaction, tie a neat knot in the bag and carry it back to the house to deposit in the trash can. Garbage pick up is every Monday and Thursday, so I stuff it inside garbage bag to ensure its odor does not become too overwhelming whenever anyone steps out into the garage.
Rocco enjoys going on walks mainly because at the conclusion I give him a treat. A spoonful of peanut butter has been his favorite of late, but really, anything from a dog biscuit to chicken or beef jerky would suffice. I enjoy the walks because it gets my blood circulating first thing in the morning, even if lately its been chillier than I prefer, and quite chilly for Florida.
Yesterday morning’s routine was interrupted with the alarm of not being able to locate my shoes. Walking the dog in house slippers is out of the questions and flip flops at this time of year would be ludicrous, even if I wore white socks to prevent my tootsies from being overly chilled. I had to find my leather dockers – what I always wear.for walking the dog. But as I scanned the floor beside my bed, they simply were not there.
Nudging Rocco to one side as he eagerly awaited, even whining with his growing urgency, I stood and scooted the bed back to see if somehow I might have kicked the shoes under the edge. Nope, not there. I got down on hands and knees – for a man going on 59 that is something of a minor accomplishment though not nearly as much as getting back up afterwards – and confirmed there was nothing under the bed buta couple of fairly large dust bunnies. Certainly the greedy shoe eating ogre departed long ago. That’s not to say that the closet gnome wasn’t busy, though, as behind my back, while I was looking elsewhere, he must have deposited my missing shoes, the ones he’d hidden from me, directly where I had initially looked – the exact place I always leave them, beside my bed. And then, quickly he climbed over the piles of dirty laundry awaiting Saturday, laundry day, and burrowed into the shadowy places of his mysterious realm.
Well, it was either that of Rocco hid my shoes. I doubt that because he was the one eager to go for a walk and the delay, though possibly amusing, would have only made matter worse. Of course, there is also the obvious, alternative conclusion that I am losing what is left of my mind or at least getting old and forgetful.
Both craziness and forgetfulness run deep in my gene pool. And, on top of everything else, I’m a writer. So, the first thing that popped into my mind was to blame a host of unlikely and improbably culprits, contriving all sorts of conspiracy theories and such, instead of admitting the simple fact that there is a blind spot that all humans have and it is directly in front of our noses.
#humor #dogs #DailyRoutine #Rocco
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