Routine, Interrupted

Monday night, Percy, our dog Dosey’s BFF, came for a sleep-over. Dosey’s a 12-pound Cavapoo, a King Charles Cavalier and miniature poodle mix. Percy’s a miniature Australian Shepherd, but he’s not tiny. At 45 pounds, he’s about four times Dosey’s size, but he’s a gentle, sweet dog. 

Most days, Dosey stalks Percy’s home. When I take her for a “walk,” she goes to Percy’s house, and if he’s not there she returns home. If he is there, the two whine like they haven’t seen each other for years. When I let her in Percy’s back yard the two race around and wrestle for maybe five minutes. Then they ignore one another until Dosey starts digging like a maniac, and I tell her it’s time to go home. Nina puts Dosey’s leash on, and Dosey and I head out the gate. Neither dog seems too upset that we’re leaving. Hello is the most important part of the routine. 

Monday night, Nina brought Percy and his giant bed into our home, and the dogs wrestled and raced, then ignored one another. A few times, Percy looked at the door and cried, confused about why Nina had left him here and wondering when she was coming back. Mostly, the BFFs were happy to be in one another’s company, though when Percy started rooting through Dosey’s toy box, she scowled, an expression I’d never seen on her face before. 

At bedtime, Dosey and Percy curled up in his bed near the foot of ours, but sometime in the night Dosey went downstairs and Percy stretched out on the floor beside Ann’s side of the bed. We all rose around 5:00, and when the time seemed reasonable, Ann took Percy and his bed home. As much as Dosey and Percy love one another, I think both were relieved to return to familiar routines. I was, too. 

When Ann and I decided to get a dog, I wanted a furry being to nap with or sit in my lap while I read. Ann wanted something that would break us from our routines. We got both. Fortunately, most nights Ann and I still get our sleep-through-the-night routine.

This has been a month of broken routines, however. Often in good ways, but the changes throw me off. One week, Ann and I travelled to Palm Springs, where we vacationed with her brother and sister-in-law. My critique group, which usually meets weekly, hasn’t met all month. Monday my parents will come from NC for five days. And—horrors—our tv died. 

We’d had our old tv for about fifteen years, and I was just beginning to figure out the remotes, but then the sound stopped and the trouble-shooting technician told us it was dying. So we bought a new one, and Ann installed it. Though she got frustrated, I don’t think she cried. 

It turns on. We celebrated our 24^thanniversary of living together by sharing a tasty halibut meal and then watching the first thirty minutes of A Fish Called Wanda. We wanted to see if we could figure out how to watch a movie. We’d both seen this one decades ago but didn’t remember much about. About fifteen minutes in, Ann’s head started jerking to the side, a sign that she was falling asleep, so we called it a night. 

Dosey slept in her bed and we in ours, and in the morning, Ann and I did yoga. Dosey did downward-facing dog and upward-facing dog, like usual. Ah, back to our routines for a few days. 

Of course, life is full of broken routines. My parents have moved from the home where they lived for 45 years. My sister and her husband are moving from the home in New York where they raised their kids to a beach house near Charleston, South Carolina. My brother’s getting married, and his teenage kids will be in the wedding. Ann and I have gotten on a waitlist at a retirement home.

I remember a college friend saying, “If you’re not changing, you’re dead.”

Not dead yet.