Do you ever find yourself doing something you know you’re going to be sorry for? I do. My human, the Geezer, sure does. I guess that’s one of the traits that binds we canines and Homo sapiens together. The scary thing is I find that we repeat the same error over and over. Let me give you some examples.
The Geezer is a creature of habit. One of those habits is his slavish devotion to his morning cups of coffee. As his first act, his feet stumble along a path as confining as a railroad track. It takes him to the coffee machine, after a brief pit stop in the bathroom. Through slitty openings his pupils stare blankly, the fog of sleep still shrouding him as he pours a cup “black blood.” It takes three or four sips before he’s alert and aware of where he is. I’m careful not to disturb him until the mug’s half empty because he’s as surly as a shedding snake before the coffee takes effect. For you city folk, that’s the equivalent of a waiter’s temperament that just got stiffed for his tip.
The old boy dearly loves his coffee and no matter what he can’t resist at least three or four cups each morning. The Geezer is fully aware of the scientific corollary to Newton’s law — it being, “What ever goes in, must come out.” He’s also aware his old plumbing is worn and is prone to leaks.
We take our walk most every morning. He knows I’m anxious to get outside, sniff the cool breeze, do my “business,” and lead him around the mile-and-a-half circuit we tread each day. He also knows the coffee he drinks translates to a full bladder by the time we’re three-quarters of the way home. He knows that, but…
Each morning I watch him drink his first cup without any thought about what’s coming. The second goes down without trepidation. When he pours the third, he eyes it suspiciously. He knows that the blood pressure medicine he just took has a diuretic in it. The first few sips are made cautiously, but he ends up draining the mug, refilling it and mumbling, “We’ll walk fast,” or “What the Hell.” After two gulps and a chug-a-lug, he hustles me out the door and we’re off to mission impossible.
I can tell when the coffee has worked its way through, usually around the one mile mark. First, he walks faster. Then slower. Then faster. As his urgency increases, he starts looking for secluded stops made previously— behind bushes or trees. When he begins mumbling about his problem, I know we’re close to a detour. After a careful look around he makes his clandestine stop, usually saying “Damn Sandy, I sure wish someone would invent a portable used coffee disposal device.”
If we make it all the way back to the house he sprints into the bathroom and the white porcelain used coffee disposal unit residing there. You want to stay out of his way at such times for he’d trample a bevy of bulls in a Pamplona street if they got between him and relief.
I hate to admit I do things I know I shouldn’t far more frequently than a respectable dog should. That’s what comes of spending more time with humans than canines. I won’t go into detail for its too embarrassing. Eating Mexican re-fried beans, cabbage, and jalapeno at the same meal, drinking from glasses left on the floor, and chasing a weird black cat with white stripes are among the things that I knew weren’t smart, but did anyway.
Oh, well…..None of us are perfect are we?