9 Days to go

The dogs (that's Pico on the right, Ipo on the left, with Jamie, the daughter of the pet center holding them) know something is up. They sense a change in the household. Up the stairs they run, down again, whine to go out, whine to come in. Ipo bats me with her paw and on my fragile skin are the marks of her claws. Below the knuckle of the small finger is a tiny slit, below it and down to the wrist are three more slits, progressively larger until you get to the wrist with its three cornered tear from her dew claw. By the time I board the plane in just nine days, the whole back of my hand will be a mass of bruises. Earlier I had tripped over a bowling bag and scraped the skin above my ankle. I look to Buzz and say, "I think I better slow down" he gives me the look like what have I been saying?
Dear heart, my husband, my Southern born gentleman husband, how can he ever understand his driven, dogmatic, hustle to get everything done, can't keep still a minute wife of his who has never grown away, in her 40 years in Hawaii, from her New Engand roots?
You've got it!!
©Natalie Norman Baer 5/28/10