It seems summer arrived here while I was vacationing in the mountains; it’s 8:30pm and still 92F at my house. The humidity (which my hair loves but my sweat glands do not) is horrible, and I’ve taken to hiking up my shirt in front of every fan in the house I pass by, just to cool “the girls” off. The cats lie around in the air conditioning, barely moving, including the old crotchety cat who is usually holed up in the back of closet somewhere. Even she can now be found spread out on the recliner, trying to stay cool.
Whenever I come home from work, the dog and I have a little meet & greet at the door, with him doing his happy dance and licking my face and me saying the usual, nauseating dog-owner things: Oh you good boy! Have you been a good boy today! Mommy missed you, did you miss mommy? Ok, now get the hell off of me. Today I walked in the door, expecting to hear the usual sounds of Coco jumping off the bed and bounding down the stairs, but there was nothing but dead silence. Puffy wuff-wuff-wuff! I called (don’t laugh). Nothing. Coco, where arrrrre you? Silence. This never happens and it’s starting to freak me out. Could he have slipped out the door when Ken left today? Is he romping around the neighborhood, oblivious and stupid to everything around him except what he can smell and pee on? Is he out in traffic??? Is he dead? Owning this dog is a lot like having a 2-year old again.
I run up the stairs to the bedroom and there he is. Lying on the bed, (his head on a pillow for crying out loud), sacked out to the world. Coco! He raises his head, squints at me, then promptly goes back to sleep. He’s hot too, I think, grateful that he’s safe and sound. I lie down next to him, my hand on his head, and close my eyes. After awhile the cat comes up to join us. We all take a summer nap, cool and contented, while the ceiling fan swirls the air conditioned air around us and the heat bakes the outside world.