~ When You Can’t Farm…Find a Towel ~
Rain. Still. I turned to Mom who was doing the dishes to get her opinion. “I’ll check in a minute Keira, but my hands are wet right now.”
I heard the wind pick up a bit during breakfast, and it was obvious the sun wasn’t winning at breaking through the clouds. Mom’s and my farming in the garden might be delayed, or even canceled. Sigh.
Mom finished up the dishes, dried her hands, and hung the towel on the oven door. I made a mental note. She picked up the little rectangle, poking and staring at it while I waited at the patio door hoping against hope.
“It’s gonna be a bit longer Keira. We should go out now to do our business before the rain gets heavy.”
Dad walked by with an empty coffee cup while Mom held the rectangle where he could see it as he yawned. He walked partway back towards the hall.
“Red circle incoming. Let’s go, you lazy hounds, and get outside. Come on, let’s gooooo!”
Both pointy-eared girls came running—Pru and our oldest pack sister. Hazel beelined for the kitchen thinking that red circle might be a treat. Dad, waiting at the patio door, gave a sharp whistle while stepping outside into the drizzle.
Distant thunder sounded, and Dad urged Hazel not to take off back to the bedroom until she had gone outside. Tucker, my only pack brother, must’ve been roused from sleep by the thunder’s vibrations. He appeared at the door weighing if it was worth it to brave the light rain while pacing back and forth to find the perfect spot to do his business.
“C’mon Tuck. Rain never hurt a retriever.”
Dad reached through the door to give the old sheriff an encouraging pat. Hazel blasted back through the door having finished. More distant rumbling, and an increase in wind motivated her urgent stride back to the bedroom.
Mom had grabbed two big towels for Tucker and me. We both had headed straight out to the open area, and even though I was done now, Tuck was still pacing around. I decided to keep him company and gave suggestions each time he walked by.
“What about the corner near the north gate Tuck?”
“Wrong wind direction Keira.”
I waited for his next pass. “How ‘bout under the pine tree by the table, Tuck?”
“Too close to Pru at the moment, Keira.”
Pru had become fascinated with the branches waving back and forth over her head. As a fur-challenged breed, she automatically headed for cover when coming outside. Cold wind and rain are not her favorite things.
Dad became aware at how wet Tuck was getting and called Pru into the house. She gave the dancing branches one last look and trotted inside.
“Pine tree is clear, Tucker.”
Tucker was noticing how wet he was getting.
“Are you just going to stand there, Keira?” Mom asked, wondering if more towels were going to be needed.
“I’m waiting for Tucker, Mom.”
Tucker was now planting his rear feet one after the other, waiting for the go signal, which came soon after.
A close overhead crack of lightning broke up the outdoor party right as Tuck was heading back to the door. Dad shooed us through quickly and slid the patio door shut when we were all safe inside.
Mom frantically covered Tuck and me with towels and was alternately rubbing both of us down and trying to keep us from wandering off just yet.
“A little help here!” Mom demanded, but Dad had stepped back outside to batten down the hatches as the heavens opened with a downpour and a roar of wind.
“Gotta check on the ark at the moment,” was his reply to Mom.
Tuck and I watched Dad through the patio door as he ran back and forth to the garden shed with armloads of garden tools, a wheelbarrow, empty pots, and a bag of yard waste that hadn’t made it to the trashcan yet. Next, he slid the door open to grab car keys and ran back outside. Moments later, he came back inside, drenched and dripping.
Mom started laughing at Dad because he looked half his normal size with his wet clothes clinging tight. Kind of like Tucker when he gets a bath, with his curly white fur wet (with apricot highlights); then, he looks like the tiniest of retrievers.
Mom turned her attention from Tuck and me to dripping Dad. I took that opportunity to find Mom’s phone. It was on the couch, so I put my muzzle on top of it. I nose-whistled twice to speed up detection.
Mom, stopping toweling up the floor to see what I was doing. “Is that my phone Keira?”
I wagged twice in affirmation. “What are you doing with my phone?”
Two more wags.
Mom got up and took the phone and put it on the kitchen island. I waited till Mom resumed cleaning up Dad’s puddle by the door, and then quietly pulled the dishtowel off the oven door handle.
I admit that I’ve never been able to fold a dishtowel like Mom does, but I try anytime I can. The towels are rarely in reach of late—almost as though Mom doesn’t want me to practice my folding.
Of course the elation of having a chance to try again required me to display my joy with loud vocalizations, crab-walking and parading till the whole household is aware I am once again a true blue (red) Golden Retriever.
Now I will also admit that in my attempt at any folding of fabric, there is the chance that sometimes, well often, my canines get caught and some slight tearing can (okay, does) occur. Which is probably why Mom dropped everything to intercept me and the quarry in my mouth.
Truth be told, I relish the attention and wag in joy as Mom returns the towel, sock, underwear, pillowcase, or blanket to its proper place.
With mouth empty and seeing that the rain wasn’t going to end soon, there was no point in trying to get Mom to look at her rectangle to prognosticate the duration of this current weather situation.
When I get disappointed at how a day is unfolding, the best place to go is the big bedroom. Mom had drawn the curtains wide open and pointed the fan across the bed. Hazel, Tuck and Pru had already staked out their territory and were watching the wind and rain with sporadic yawning.
There was only one thing a retriever girl could do when faced with this situation.
“Move over, Hazel.”
~ Keira Bear ~
