Nosy Rosie

Following our normal morning pee and poop routine I walked Rosie around 5:45 am last Tuesday. As usual, she was a good girl, marking all her normal lawns and pooping on her favorite. Rosie likes to strafe poop, spreading the wealth across the lawn and ending up on the sidewalk. During daylight hours this makes dooty duty easy as you can just follow the path back to the first bomb. When its dark and you are using a flashlight, not so much. Even though her business was complete before we were half way around the block we decided it would be a grand adventure to continue on, rather than retrace our steps (and smells.)
“C’mon, Dad. It won’t be that much further to keep going and who knows who we will smell.”
“I won’t smell anything Rose, but if it makes you happy let’s keep going. I don’t have got be at the golf course until 8:30 this morning.”
Rosie looked at me. “Golf again, Dad?”
“Yes Rosie. Don’t you remember I play three times a week? Tuesday, Thursday and either Saturday or Sunday, depending on what Mom and I have planned for the other weekend day.”
“Of course I remember! What do you think I am? Old and forgetful… like some people?”
Wisely letting it go we continued along, turned the corner and headed back up the hill towards home. The sun was just peeking over the hill in front of us.
At least I didn’t have to wear the same clothes or eat the same breakfast as I did on my “career best” round last week. Two days after that personal high the golf gods crushed me by “helping” me post a score 28 strokes higher than my “best ever,” thus releasing me from any possible superstition required to beat or repeat that score. As we all know, the golf gods are vindictive and do not suffer disturbances in the Golf Force.
When we arrived at home Rosie looked at me, wagged her tail and asked, “Can we run now Dad? Can we?“
“No Rose. It is too early and your barking will wake the neighbors,” I reminded her. She really is forgetful this morning. Maybe she lied about her age and really is older than her 21 dog years.
“Ok, then I will go back to bed with Mom. Don’t worry about golf. Remember, it’s just a game.”
I snuck in the bedroom to pat Rosie on the head before I left for golf. It was about 7:45. I knew I would be at the course early, but after my last round I also knew I needed extra practice time.
Rosie whispered, “Have a good round. I know not to tell you to have fun. You always tell me you are going to play golf which in now way implies you are going to have fun.
I rubbed her head and told her to be nice to Mom. I would be back for a late lunch. As I was changing into my blue spikeless golf shoes in the garage I wondered just how much she remembers, or if she has a selective memory and only recalls what she wishes to recall. Rosie is decidedly an enigma.
At 8:40 the doorbell pinged that someone was near the front door. I thought it might be the landscaper who was going to replace a dead hedge plant. I looked at the video to see Fran closing the door with Rosie on her bright pink leash. I realized I did not remember to walk Rosie one last time before I left and felt guilty because I certainly had the time. I just forgot. There is a lot of that going around lately.
I sent Fran a text apologizing. She replied, “I had to get up eventually anyway. It’s cold out.”
Texting back, “Yes, I had to add a sweater this morning.”
Fran: “Just so you know, I was sleeping when suddenly Rosie put her cold wet nose right in my ear. It scared the crap outta me!” (She didn’t say crap, but close enough.)
Me: “You are kidding! No, I know you aren’t. I’m sorry. I forgot to walk her again before I left.”
Fran: “Forget it. Have fun.”
I wondered what she meant by that remark, but had totally forgotten the entire conversation as I bent over to put another of those little white torture spheres on the tee.

About dave1y

Dave Oney was born mid last century in Middlebury, Vermont. He received his BS in Chemistry and worked as a polymer chemist in Massachusetts and New Jersey. He became a microscopist (someone who studies little bitty things using a microscope) and photomicrographer (someone who photographs little bitty things) before settling into a 35-year career in technical sales of scientific imaging equipment (the science of digitally recording itty bitty things, sending the image to a computer for analysis.) He designed and created a number of products contributing to this field. He is (was) proficient in several computer languages and is currently working on mastering English. After making a few more paradigm shift career changes Dave and his wife, Fran, retired and moved closer to their children and granddaughters and now live in the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas.
This entry was posted in fiction, Humor, short story and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to Nosy Rosie

  1. Pingback: Short-short Stories | "What If…" by Dave Oney

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