Sunday, July 18, 2010

The Dog House

One hot July, that this time of year tends to remind me of, when I was 5 or 6 years old, I was asked to do a very big job. All. By. Myself. I was on top of the world!

The job was, to feed the cats every evening, for my Aunt and Uncle that Summer, while they went for a week's vacation. It was pretty straight forward, all I needed to do was open the can, put the food out on a dish, then set the dish just inside house...door? 
I could not even begin to imagine why you would want to feed your cats in the dog house?! But hey, I wanted to prove I was big enough to do the job. So off I happily skipped, to the little white house on the corner to fulfill my responsibilities!  
Upon arrival I found the brown paper bag sitting peacefully on the little back step containing the hand crank can opener, a fork with can's and plates that I would be needing. I opened a can, chopped the icky, smelly, sticky, stuff up, all without spilling any of the ooze, and picked it up to put it in the dog house...

They didn't have a dog...

I hunted, and looked, why, I bet I marched every inch of their property...I could not find that dog house to save my hide. Wondering what in the world to do, I knew I needed to ask for help, so off I slowly trudged back up the block, with that grody plate of cat food in tow, to ask my Dad where the dog house was.

He laughed a lot and told me he would come back down with me to show me. The return trip down the block, with me still carting that stinky plate of cat food was made.

He showed me a little room that had been built at the end of the car port, then showed me were in the back there was a door to the small room, containing a single bed, coat rack and small wooden chair with a lamp perched in the center of it.   He told me to go ahead an put the plate right inside the door. 

"Ok", I thought, while setting it down, here came the cats on the run. 

The return trip was filled with the 20,000 questions of my young years,  I bombarded my Dad all the way home about that little room... why, it didn't look like a dog house to me, at all! 

His laughter filled answers told me that I might not think so now, but it was, indeed, a dog house, and even went so far as to say that one day, my husband, might have one just like it...

Grown ups!

 Smile and remember;
We're fool's whether we dance or not. So we might as well dance.

1 comment:

  1. Utterly butterly delightful! Thank you for sharing this story, Missy. More please!

    xoxo, Kristi, longing for the days when family lived up the street (Aunt Betty and Uncle Rusty once did. Oh, those were the days!)