At the rehab facility last night, Alicia and I bagged-up Mom's clothing and personal articles to bring home, easing the burden of today's tasks relative to her discharge.
The Chihuahua-mix known as "Coconut" (and "Cokie" and "Doodies" et al.) met us with her usual, unconditional love before settling down with acknowledgement and a few petted back strokes.
The phone was ringing--Alicia's husband in California--so I went to the car and brought in a couple bags, and juggled vases to rest on the kitchen counter with just one item left to retrieve from the car.
I took Mom's walker from the back seat, reattached the basket, plopped the seat down, undid the brakes and rolled it into the kitchen.
The dog went berserk, running circles around the walker and then reversing direction, wagging her corkscrewed tail like a windshield wiper on steroids, performing small front-legged lifts like a miniature stallion while emitting mini-barks.
Wordlessly, they know...they just know, don't they.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment