Just before lights out every night, Buck takes Maggie for a walk outside. He jogs around the concrete pool deck while she ruffles up her fur and pretends to protect us from the deer just on the other side of the fence. That excitement usually stimulates her kidneys, producing the desired result.
They come back in the house. He stands at attention. She sits close by his left side. "Are you ready for your cookie?" he asks. Maggie sidles closer, presses against his leg. "Okay, then," he says.
"Heel!" And they're off, briskly walking from our bedroom through the hall, the bar, the living room, the old part of the house that we call "the lodge," with its office work area, den, bedroom, bathroom and what used to be a one-car garage and is now Maggie's bedroom and our treadmill and weights space. It's actually a pretty long walk.
Then, Buck gives Maggie her "cookie," which is a Milk Bone treat.
A few days ago, Buck came running back into the bedroom after taking Maggie to the garage. "There's been a disaster! Maggie's cookie jar is empty."
"Uhm," I thought, and who is it who has the best handle on the Milk Bone inventory?
"How about a cracker instead?" I said to the back of Buck's navy blue T-shirt as he disappeared out the door.
"I have an idea," he said.
He returned shortly and flipped a strip of paper with words printed on it onto the bed covers in front of me. It was from a Fortune Cookie. I remembered I had accumulated several in a bowl in the pantry leftover from the occasional Chinese take-out supper.
Your bright outlook
avoids small worries.
Maggie's bright outlook also makes her a hit at dinner parties. She enjoyed the attentions of Ivy (at the piano), and James and Jane at a gathering of our Christ Church Parish Supper Club last night. Not in the picture are Bob, Gail and John, Buck and that silly brunette photographer.