ONE MORE TIME
Pet Project
Third in the One More Time serial
David Lee Howells
Copyright 2013
Catching Up
Sam Carney and Elsie Partlow were officially engaged. Ties to their past marriages were eroded by so many life changes. The rite of passage of an engagement was a very big part of that process.
The huge step of stepping away from their two previous homes, next door to each other, and committing to selling them to the University of Madison was another giant step.
Taking a house suffering the pain of the murder of its former owners, the Thurgesons, and sharing the steps to transfer the reins of ownership to themselves was a process as well, though it had a legion of details to attend to. That process would likely never be complete. A relationship with a house was always a give and take as long as one lived there. Deciding on specifics to guild the nest required whole-hearted mutual participation if it was to work.
Like a first day at school for desk and cafeteria seating choices, some things were a clean slate that would become an accepted tradition. Here, the minor choices of Sam’s car taking up the far garage slot and Elsie’s bed side being closer to the bathroom would gel into the stability of the larger picture…the comfort of structure.
The newness of deciding which glasses or plates went into which cupboards would become programmed into their subconscious minds so that a half-asleep mission of getting a glass of water would be accomplished with almost no awareness of the action steps that were required.
There were compromises that any relationship would require initial conscious effort to smooth out. Elsie didn’t think they needed a video screen THAT big. Her insistence that dinner was at the table and not watching the TV or answering the phone grated a little on Sam at first, but he got over it.
The process seemed to be moving along smoothly. Yet, as the ripples in the domestic pond settled down, other considerations began to take more of a front position.
Elsie wanted to feel useful and to have outlets for her creativity, both of which suffered a hit when she sold the hair salon. For now though, the minutiae of the final touches to home coziness and resurrecting the front-yard flower gardens muted the growing restlessness in her heart.
There was the earlier-expressed desire to add a pet to the house. Sam and Gracie had a dog, years back, a Scottie named Blackie. Blackie had lived a good life, but developed cancer at age ten. He was never replaced for, not long after his demise, Gracie started going downhill. Elsie and Raul had opted for a brother/sister tabby team named Mullet and Buffy (originally Bouffant, but the nick name stuck better). They were outdoor cats who, one day, never came home again. Whether they found new homes or suffered injury was never revealed. The Partlow family never gave up hope of their return until their attention, too, was drawn to a much greater concern regarding Raul’s demise.
The back yard seemed to beckon another canine to the equation. That part had ready agreement. The breed, however, was another story.
House Dog - Dog House
“Elsie, you are amazing. The place is perfect! Maybe house decoration could be something you could look into doing?”
The sunset was toasted with coffee cups, celebrated with cinnamon buns, and orchestrated to the gentle rock of two chairs. “I enjoyed doing it, Sam. It feels like ‘us’ here, now. I think I’m ready to scale back on the frenzy and pace ourselves better.”
Sam took in the color changes of the clouds, with tinges of red and yellow highlighting the far puffs, while the clouds overhead had now quieted down to somber grays. “You still up to thinking about getting a dog? You feel ready for that?”
Elsie smiled, remembering Sam and Gracie’s Blackie. “I think I’d like that. Something for me to rock on my lap with big brown eyes that look up when I scratch behind its ears.”
“Well, not much room for a decent sized dog and you on one of these chairs. But I hear you. Just picture our faithful Fido’s head resting on the rocker arm, just as content as we are.”
Elsie’s chair stopped rocking a few seconds, then tentatively started again. “You should have seen all those pictures my clients used to bring into the Salon. Those dogs were so cute and cuddly, bright eyes, attentive, friendly, little packages of love.”
Sam’s chair stopped rocking. He eventually jump-started it by drumming his fingers on the arm rest. “I remember with great fondness our Labrador, Chester. He came before Blackie. It was a breeze to exercise him just by tossing a tennis ball. He was pretty good with Frisbees, too. Those were good times.”
It took a bit longer for Elsie to start her chair’s rhythm, which was a tad faster now than it had started out with. “Sounds like good memories for a young man. A lot of my customers who are OUR age really appreciated how much easier the smaller dogs were to take care of. Less hair to shed, less food to buy, smaller yard duty piles, and you didn’t have to walk them nearly as far for their exercise. Plus, when they saw a squirrel, they didn’t pull your arm out of its socket.”
Sam’s chair didn’t stop this time, but sped up to match Elsie’s rate. “That sounds like good, common sense for old people. The back yard has plenty of room for exercise with tennis balls. With walks, a well-trained dog won’t bolt for squirrels. You have to bend down just as far for a small pile as a medium one. Larger dogs are a lot more of a crime deterrent, and they don’t yap at a frequency that puckers your ear drums.”
Elsie’s chair went from rapid rock to an ominous stoppage. “Sam, Dear, we need a little give and take to make things work, right?”
Sam’s chair now was immobile as well. “Of course…Sweetheart.”
“Now, I know how much you wanted that cinema-sized video screen. It was quite a bit larger than what I had in mind, but it seemed important to you so I agreed to it. Now, it seems that you and I have a difference of opinion on what kind of canine companion we want in our house. I compromised with the video screen. I think it’s your turn, now.”
“Elsie, I didn’t think we were keeping track, but if give and take is something you want to put on a balance sheet, you chose the plate and glass patterns, the towel and wash cloth type and size and color, the drapes, the blinds, the bed sheets, the living room area rug pattern and which flowers to plant in the front garden. Now you did a wonderful job with all of it and I’m very pleased, and we did share more on the paint colors.”
“Sam Carney, I made those decisions because you were clueless when I asked for your input. That put the burden on my end of it to make those decisions, and you said you were pleased with the results. Seems like that deserves a bit of a reward for the extra effort.”
Anyone walking down the lane might wonder why the nice looking couple were sitting with their arms crossed, staring straight ahead, not moving at all. The silence lasted a good minute.
Sam finally spoke. “Fine. Get a yap dog. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
The tone didn’t help matters. “A YAP dog, is it? Sam, if you’re going to go passive aggressive on me, then just forget it.”
“What do you want? You wanted a mini-mutt and I agreed to it like you asked. You weren’t happy with my video screen, fine. Thanks for your compromise. I’m compromising in return to be fair to you. I don’t like little dogs, but I’m still agreeing to one. A little thanks might be nice.”
Elsie was getting knotted inside. “Thanks!? This was something that was supposed to be nice for both of us and you turned it into a tit for tat.”
“Me? You’re the one that first brought out the screen decision, making it into leverage for the guilt factor. We were both talking about what we liked about our vision of a dog
pet and you pulled in a whole different subject.”
Elsie stood up, tears in her eyes, stormed into the house, and the door shut none too gently. Sam almost got up to attempt damage control, but he had already failed miserably outside where better behaviors were held onto for the neighbors. What might happen if he went indoors? She’s the one that took off, why should he go chasing after her with…with his tail between his legs?
He tried to retrace the steps to this disaster. Was it a disaster? It was certainly their first argument. Disagreements on rules to award cookies and muffins were all in fun. This was anything but.
Step by step, point by point, using a memory he had developed in his sales career, all he could figure out was that they had a difference of opinion regarding the size of a proposed family pet. That was it. Why had it escalated to a mutual snit-fit?
She had over reacted. Of that he was sure. He had, too, and he was now becoming aware enough where he could tell where he fueled the fire. Some fire…it left two people cold to each other. The more he thought about it, the more trivial his objections became and the dumber his responses echoed in his mind.
Action step. He was a man. Men did action steps. What could he do? Going into the house would be a start. Sam gathered up the plate, cups and carafe and opened the door. Things were looking pretty dark in the living room, so he flipped on the lights. That helped, a little. No Elsie. He peeked down the hall and the bedroom door was shut. Bathroom doors were open with no lights in evidence.
He went to the kitchen and tossed the uneaten halves of two cinnamon roles, washed what was in the sink, then scratched his head. That chill still hung in the air, possibly augmented by the night air coming through the windows. He shut those, keeping quiet but not trying to be stealthy.
An idea occurred to him. There was something he had been wanting to try out but never had gotten around to it. Today’s paper was in the recycling bin. He pulled out a section and set it by the fireplace, then went out back where there was still half a cord of firewood left over from the previous owners. That felt strange, since they’d been killed in the house. Maybe it was a good thing to use it up. Tomorrow he’d ask around to see who was a good resource for more firewood.
Sam was never a Boy Scout, but he had done some camping in his time. In twenty minutes, there was a healthy glow in the fire chamber, enough so that he turned off the recessed ceiling lights and just left two lamps on in the corners. Sam took the half-finished bottle of port from the fridge and two wine glasses and brought them over to the circular base of the fireplace. He thought at first to pull up a chair, then changed his mind and scooted up the love seat. Two glasses were poured and left for now to breathe.
Now what? Was Elsie asleep? Crafting a voodoo doll? Flushing a ring? No, he thought, she wouldn’t do that, surely. Might take it off, though. Hopefully not. Probably not. Elsie was no quitter. He had seen her strength through those tumult times and the long road to recovery afterwards.
His path became clearer. Sam went to the kitchen and made a small acquisition. Then he walked back to the bedroom door and gave a soft knock.
“What?”
“Just wanted to say I’m sorry. I’ll leave you alone, now.”
Sam walked back to the love seat, stepping just hard enough that his departure would be communicated to the bedroom’s occupant. Sitting down, he scooted the seat just enough that she’d hear that he didn’t leave the house, but was waiting nearby if she wanted his company. He didn’t wait long before hearing the door latch open. There was the slightest squeak as the door opened wide. He’d get out the oil tomorrow and fix that.
Elsie’s steps could be heard from behind. Bedroom slippers. They had a unique sound, kind of raspy, whispery. Sam kept watching the fire as the steps came to a stop. He felt a gentle, warm touch to his shoulder. It felt forgiving. Sam raised his right hand up, holding a lemon cookie. He preferred chocolate chip. She preferred lemon. His choice may have seemed trivial to some, but it conveyed meaning to the recipient. He heard her walk to the kitchen, the cupboard click, something crinkling, and upon return of his fiancée, he now had his own kind of cookie in hand. His next peace offering was a wine glass, which was gently received as Elsie slipped around and sat next to Sam.
“I’m sorry, too. Sam? What happened?”
“Our first argument. Funny. I was trying to remember Gracie’s and my first one. I remember getting all angry, but darned if I can remember what it was about.”
“I’m not sure about Raul’s and mine either. You’re easier going than he was, I think. Was our first worse than yours and Gracie’s? I mean yours and my first argument…you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do, and no, I don’t think it was worse. She cried a lot longer. I slept on the couch until the wee hours when she came and asked me to come back to bed.”
“We were all younger then, Sam, and maybe had more passion and less perspective.”
“Well, Elsie, old age has to have SOME compensations.”
“I thought we weren’t old.” Sam thought at first that was a springboard back to their earlier tiff, but it didn’t have that tone to it. It was more affirming their decision to be young together, no matter how many parts stopped working right.
“Point taken. Elsie, my love, we had a difference of opinion about dogs. The world still turns and tomorrow the birds will still sing. We can work this out. How about you and I take a jog over to the SPCA tomorrow and just stroll around. Maybe something will bark to please both of us?”
Elsie held out her wine glass, which sparkled in the firelight. “Fair enough. I like it. Here’s to us, dear Sam, and to whatever tomorrow will bring us.”
The sound of the glasses touching heralded a much better mood.
One More Time, Pet Project Page 1
