Annie gets on the barn roof
I am back home to the ticking of the kitchen clock, the cricking of the fall crickets, the rattling of the kibble, the dripping of the coffee, the prowling of outside Annie. I am homing, I think, in my old kitchen chair gazing on the old kitchen table, the old rocker, the old lights, the old beer mugs. Just a few days away and my eyes drink in the old familiar.
Traveling without Judge means stopping at a rest stop and reaching into the back of the car for Judge and the leash and, Oh, No Judge! Well that is easier, no need to find the strange dog walk space in the middle of purring semi’s. It means dinner, oh yes we can stay for coffee, no dog frantic for a walk at the apartment. It means morning without a walk, without a close examination of each tree, each bush, each corner, each curb. Definitely easier.
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Our friend on the hill watched Judge and Annie. We came home to peaceful pets, happy to see us, nothing frantic, just a nod, good, oh its you, nice you’re back, how was the trip, that sort of thing. No Oh my God it was awful, you abandoned me, pet me, no leave me alone, no feed me, no scratch me, no you left me. Just hi, good you’re back. That was Judge and Annie, mellow.
Our friend on the hill told me Annie climbed the ladder. «She climbed from rung to rung, stopping at the ladder’s extension, thinking, then going on. Where the ladder met the roof, Annie wove in and out of the rungs, up to the top of the ladder, then onto the roof. She lay on the roof like Cleopatra, tail flicking off the roof this way and that. I stayed to watch her come down, weaving down the rungs till she got to the space where the roof ends. Then she glided down, one front leg and one back leg slowing her descent as she slid. Finally, with 8 or so feet left, she stopped, and then jumped.»
I was glad to be told this. I was glad not to see it. I had a rule, when the children were little, that they were not allowed to climb trees when I was around. They obeyed this rule except once, when a son, from a branch, called out to me «Mom, Mom, catch me, I am about to fall.» He was only 4 feet from the ground. «Just let yourself drop,» I called, reclining in my chair. «No, it’s too far,» he cried. And then let go, and dropped, and his bare foot hit a stick and it shoved into his foot. And it hurt, and it was my fault. And he never forgot it, or forgot to tell the story. I suppose the story should end that he has a fear of heights, but that would not be true. For he has become a kite surfer, a mountain biker, a sports roustabout. And I have returned to my rule. Don’t climb trees when I am around.
Annie lies on the settee now, flicking her tail this way and that. This, I like to see. She is 18 inches from the floor, and the floor is covered by a rug. Her eyes close in sleep. She breathes slowly, relaxed. Judge lies at Merv’s feet, gently wagging his tail. I drink in the ordinary sights. I breathe with the ticking of the clock, the wagging of the tail, the pouring of the coffee. Sounds of home, sweet sounds of home.
