Even little old ladies have a past
Don't let the white hair fool ya
Brady, my dog from Georgia, is 16. I feel like she’s not aged that much until last week. All of a sudden she’s walking a little sideways, she can’t see the sausage she dropped, she makes long grunting noises when she finally sits down but avoids a relaxing pose until she’s ready to not get up again.
She hates the young dog shenanigans, ignores play and “fun”, only comes around if there’s food involved and let’s herself out to use the bathroom.
Oh the similarities.
Her face is bony and angular now and the jaw that used to be strong and swollen from snapping like a gator all day to flush a chipmunk from a wood pile is now part of her neck. She used to jump vertically for hours to try and reach a possum in a tree. A branch poked her cornea 6 years ago and she just kept going. So her eyes are a bit off kilter now for sure. Cloudy and wide open coming to find me in the one of two rooms…
DID I KNOW THERE WAS SOME CHICKEN IN THE TOASTER OVEN?
She still barks to have the pan drippings off the stove and no one is going to sleep if there’s anything left on the counter. A stick of butter, a fish fin, half glass of milk. Give it to her or put it away. Which is good advice because there are mice. I don’t care, it’s not my house. I still have most of my stuff in a duffel bag. Longest denial ever that I’m still in this wonky place and that my van was totalled.
Are you sure you can’t fix it? And it won’t be coming by sometime?
Her breath smells like an old shrimp now and she doesn’t enjoy bones as much as she used to but I remember like it was yesterday her ripping a squirrel off of the roof of the chicken coop and shaking it until it died and popping its head off to run around with it in the yard.
She used to disappear over the train tracks after a deer for half a day and I’d worry and she’d not care. She’d come back overheated but blissed out from the chase, the danger. Now she just wants some chicken broth, some liver and a nap.
Shoulders high, belly sloping, toenails clickety clackety on the tile. Dry season is hard to keep upright. Foot pads losing grip like house socks.
I remember my mom at 89. Tiny puffs of hair like white downy feathers. She’d demand bourbon and ice cream after a lifetime of sensible meals and cooking for kids and family. And some chicken salad from Publix and those soft rolls! Plates of all white stuff for her final year and lots of loud TV and profanity. Not something I grew up with. She was a feisty lady but always a “lady” and nearing 90 she was more of a carnival barker. Funny, but a little scary. Especially the arguments over keeping her diaper on.
The old ladies in this town are still tough as nails. Ranch women and Yacqui Indians who could probably skin me alive before building the fire to cook me on. Only thing that slows them down is their diabetes. Thanks Coke!
I’ve gotten some good gossip on a few of them from the laundry lady.
“That one used to crawl out of her window at night when her husband fell asleep drunk and she’d have sex with the pastor at the church!”
“And that one killed her brother for eating her sandwich out of the fridge but we all know it was for something else. Only did 5 years.”
Sonora is a tough place to live today. I can’t imagine 70 years ago.
When people met my mom in her advanced years they’d say she was so CUTE! OMG she looks like Betty White! And she did sorta with a Barbara Bush cross. But she was quick as a rabbit with a pointed tongue. Still, I took care of her until the end, sharing duties with my odd brother on alternate weeks.
I will do the same with Brady and forgive her when she nips me for trimming her toenails. She has a past, and I know what I’m dealing with.
