...put on your red shoes and dance the blues......
I'd planned to begin at the beginning, but that would mean backtracking, so I'd better just begin.
Tonight, she waited on the porch for me with a baseball bat.
"She's stolen from me before," she tells Pugsley, who waits with her.
"They just went for a walk," Pugsley reminds her.
"Well, they've been gone long enough. She's stolen from me before, you know."
Pugsley explains to his grandmother that Wednesday and I probably were walking the dogs a longer while than she herself usually does (we were) and that the young boy dog (who my family has been calling 'Dogmeat') needed more stimulation than he usually had with just her. He assures her that we would return with the dogs. It wasn't until he held up the car keys to show her that there was no way we could leave without coming back to the house first that she began to calm down a little.
"I just want to clarify," he tells me later, "that I didn't talk down to her, I talked her down."
I glance at the clock. It's past seven. Of course she was upset and worried.
Her 'terrible two o'clocks' are coming as early as 1 PM now. Today at 1:20, she left a message about the third dog, the one I stole, the one she's not getting back.
I don't know how to not feel terrible about any of this.
David Bowie; Let's Dance
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