THE TRAINED MISTRESS

A true story of life in Atlanta before I moved to Louisiana. Reality information as to why I needed to have a caregiver without responsibility for other creatures. The scene with the dogs became habitual as I grew older and less capable of caring for the two pets. Maddie is with my daughter, and Hershey passed away two years ago. I miss their unconditional love every day. The story of Maddie and Hershey reinforces the intelligence of the Labrador breed, and I could tell many more that would reveal their loyalty and love for a master.  Labradors make great pets. 

Chilled loneliness swept over my being as the sound of a distant alarm clock crept into my unconscious sleep mode and aroused me from the restless night.  Faithful Maddie, my ever attentive female Labrador Retriever, rose from nearby and stretched lazily before she reached out and licked my hand in morning greeting.  Not far behind, Hershey, her male companion, also a Labrador Retriever, stretched his  legs and arched his sleek brown body before approaching for his morning greeting.

My eyes reacted to the stark white brightness that shot through my vision as I switched on the bedside lamp.  The drone of a newscaster’s voice emitting from the TV I left on all night reached my conscious mind as he reported some disastrous happening somewhere in the world.   At this moment in time, I cared only about the aches and pains that kept me resting on the bedside while I summoned the energy to accompany the dogs to the door for their morning outing.  How did I reach this point of complete uselessness?  Easy, I thought.  Time simply passed.

As I stumbled through the living room to the front door, I thought about the days when I could jump out of bed, scramble to the bathroom, grab my clothes, and exercise for thirty minutes before beginning a day of work.  Now I’m lucky to drag myself from bed, take a few unsteady steps and be grateful I don’t fall and break some part of my anatomy, I thought as I turned from the door after letting the dogs out.  I busied myself with filling the dog dishes with “Kibbles and Bits.”  They needed water, another chore that required bending and lifting, placing a real trying mission on my back and knees. But as they returned to the door ready to begin the day, I invited them in, and they dived into breakfast.

Blindly, I fumbled through the motions of starting the coffee pot.  By this time, the dogs stood patiently by the door ready to return to the back yard for their after breakfast run.  They hit the back deck running; I admired their enthusiasm, but did not join them.  In a short time, they returned to the door and barked to come back inside.  Quietly struggling with the day, I tried to steady the cup of coffee and open the door for them.

“Sorry guys,” I said, falling into the lounge chair in the office, “You will have to forgive me this time.”  They both sat before me looking up with doleful eyes as though the world had stopped and they surely were in danger of some grievous event.

“You’ve had your breakfast,” I said absentmindedly.  “What more do you expect of me this morning.”  They continued to stare at me with four unmoving, questioning eyes that seemed to penetrate my chest causing definite heartburn to surface.  I leaned back and closed my eyes hoping they would get my message if not from my words, certainly from my actions.

I fell asleep for a moment – possibly five or ten minutes.  A slight movement nearby disturbed me, and I opened my eyes and looked downward to see four unmoving, questioning eyes penetrating my chest and definitely causing the heartburn to progress. 

“Can’t you see this cold, dreary, winter day does not improve my disposition?  I’d appreciate both of you just go lay down somewhere and leave me alone.”  I blurted out the words in a tone that usually sent them off to hide in a corner until my temperament improved.  But they continued to sit with four unmoving, questioning eyes that now sadly penetrated - - then I remembered, I forgot to give them the treat they always receive when they come in from their morning outing. 

“I’m sorry, guys, I forgot.” I said as I reached into the big glass treat jar that sits on the counter in the kitchen.   They really have me well-trained, but sometimes I simply forget.