July 29, 2016 by Petrea
I have a nice routine. I get up early each morning and start the coffee, then feed Wilma and let her out. After that, she and I sit together in my office and write for a while before getting on with the business-y parts of the day. I get a lot of writing done that way, as I told you in last week’s post about workflow.
We haven’t gotten much done this week, however, because Wilma had surgery and she needs extra care. It’s been a disruption in our routine.
“Isn’t that so, Wilma?” I ask her. She’s seated on her tuffet beside me as usual, except—
—her voice echoes slightly, because she’s wearing a cone. She’s staring at me, waiting for me to fix it.
“You’re doing a good job of keeping still and letting it heal,” I tell her.
“It would heal a lot faster if you’d let me lick it.” She continues to stare.
“The doctor says no.”
“The doctor is a ass.”
“An ass, Wilma.”
I’m trying not to get frustrated with her. After all, she’s the one with the cone on her head. She’s the one who can’t go on walks. For me, that would be the equivalent of being forced to stay home and wear cones on my wrists. I’d be unable to type, wash, or do anything except hold the TV remote. And watching TV during a presidential campaign is about as much fun as breathing mud. Yet if it meant I could be healthy, I’d do it.
“Don’t worry, sweetie. Life will get back to normal when you’re better.”
“More walks?” she asks.
“Yes. And sunbathing in the back yard. And chasing squirrels. And freedom from the cone. Wilma, the doctor might have saved your life.”
She continues to stare for a moment, then gives in and lies down, allowing the air to cool the sutures on her belly.
“It’s a nice life,” she says. “I love Dr. Ass.”