I woke up cranky this morning. Frieda, the elderly golden retriever, was snoring next to the couch where I sleep. I don’t like snoring.
Jack got mom up at 5am. Ash grabbed a sock. Frieda grabbed a toy. Frieda always talks with her mouth full. I’m glad I’m not a retriever.
Everything is out of sync. Frieda is deaf and doesn’t know the feeding order, so she gets her chow first. Disgusting. Ash is top dog and he should be first. Ash said he doesn’t care. I do.
After breakfast we were ready to go to the studio for quiet time, but mom couldn’t find Frieda so we all had to wait.
Frieda had wandered off and got herself stuck in a corner. She doesn’t see well and couldn’t figure out how to get back to the kitchen. I’m glad I’m not old.
When mom had all us dogs together we went across to the studio. I grabbed my place on the bed, Ash jumped into his favorite chair and Jack flopped on his dog bed. Frieda just stood there.
Mom led Frieda to an empty dog bed and Frieda settled in for a nice nap. Naturally she started snoring. I was about to make a snotty remark when mom gave me the stink eye.
Mom told me I’d be old one day and asked me how I would want to be treated. I hate that kind of logic. Of course I want to be treated kindly when I’m old.
But I’m not old. I’m young and healthy and have a very fine life. Mom looked disturbed so I started my licky-licky act to distract her. It didn’t work.
Then Ash asked me to be nice to Frieda because Frieda is his last link to Codie. Frieda was around a lot when Codie was raising Asher. He regards her as his kindly old aunt and shows her the same respect he showed Codie.
Next thing I knew Ash started to cry. It was horrible. Boy dogs don’t cry. But here was my best pal Ash with tears in his eyes. All because of an old mop of a dog named Frieda.
I told Ash I was sorry. Of course I would be nice to Frieda. I promised no more stink eye. Then we were alone with our thoughts. I was feeling kinda bad about being mean to Frieda.
When you’re young sometimes you don’t think about what it’s like to get old. Your life is in front of you. But when you’re old most of your life is in the rear view mirror. I gotta think about that. If I’m lucky I’ll live long enough to be old one day too. Then maybe I’ll wish I’d been nicer to Frieda. I’m gonna start now.