I was trying to show one of my work colleagues a picture of my darling Margaret, and I realized (with embarrassment) that I had many pictures of Tobias, and few of Margaret. This is not because I love Margaret less, but rather, because she doesn’t actually do much. She is sixteen after all, and is slowing down. Her favorite activity is napping, followed by following me around wherever I go. She sobs at the foot or head of the stairs if I forget to carry her up or down respectively, she being too old to navigate the steps. This, of course, is not a favorite activity, and not even a frequent activity, as I am pretty vigilant about not leaving her behind. She naps in the bed if that’s where I am, under my desk chair when I am busy playing Bridge with my computer, in my reading chair when I am there reading – and that’s where we both are now - I typing, she snoozing. When I am cooking, she stands by, giving sage advice, and keeps a sharp lookout for any crumbs or scraps that may drop her way. She is a real little Hausfrau, helping not onlywith the cooking, but with the ironing as well. Whenever I get the iron out, she is there – with her little bottom pointed towards the heater in my sewing room and the rest of her keeping watch over …. I don’t know what. But she always helps in exactly the same way, standing at my feet and giving moral support as I press those pillowcases. In fact, she gives me moral support all the time, with her beautiful doggy soul and loving heart.
|Margaret helping with the ironing|
Tobias, on the other hand, is a little short on the moral support, but he is always doing clever and amusing things – like sitting on the book I am trying to read, getting in the washing machine as I try to load in the laundry, lounging in the bathroom sink, stalking across the stove, walking up and down my back in the morning when he thinks I should be waking up to fix his breakfast, putting his hand on my nose when that doesn’t work, dipping his tail in my salad and getting dressing all over it, as he did this evening. (Of course, I don’t allow him on the table to keep me company at dinner and to have the occasional bite of whatever I am eating! This was just an isolated aberration. Cats on the dining table! The very idea! Disgusting!)
They both help me with my knitting and reading, each in his or her own special way. They are indeed my two little darlings.