Home is where our dogs are. Well, in my case, it’s where my dogs and cat are.
Once again it’s time for Linda Hill’s #SoCS challenge
The word for today is “yes.”
“Yes, I have 5 dogs,” I said to the woman laughing at the faces peering out at her from the partly rolled-down windows of my 24 year old station wagon.
“Your car needs a paint job,” she said.
“You didn’t ask me the right question,” I said with a wry smile.
She gave me a smirk, asking, “…and what would that question be?”
“Do I care,” I said. “The answer is no.”
She huffed out her disapproval and scurried away.
“The more I ‘m around people, the more I like my dogs,” I said to the Rottie Mutt.
“Hey, lady!” A man wider than he was tall yelled. “Are you a crazy cat lady, too?”
“Only if you call being owned by 2 cats a herd,” I said. “I’ll introduce you to my husband when he comes out of the store. He had 40 cats when he moved in with me. Why don’t you ask him if he’s a crazy cat man.”
“Is that him, the guy with the white beard and hat?”
“The one scowling at you?” I asked with a chuckle. “Yes.”
“Damned uneducated rednecks,” He mumbled.
“If you call a woman with a a B.S. in psychology and a retired chiropractor uneducated, I want to know what you consider an education.”
“Are you s#!ting me!”
“My laxative is about to work. Lay down on the ground and I’ll do just that.”
“You’re disgusting!” He yelled. “Did you take a bath this week?”
“You’re fat,” I said. “It’s going to take more than a bath to solve your problem.”
He stomped away, or should I say “waddled”, unwilling to ask my husband if he was a crazy cat man. Hubby handed me 4 dozen eggs he’d just purchased from Dollar General and asked, “Problem?”
“No,” I said. “You?”
“Yes. I saw two of my former patients. If there’s one thing I hate it’s being stuck in line and having to listen to people ask for advice I can’t legally give them.”
“I don’t have that problem with my former clients,” I said. “They generally don’t ask me for advice while we’re standing in line.”
We drove the few miles to our concrete block house in the country, watching our dogs climb out of the car once we’d parked inside the fence. Tails high, they rushed through the dog door to jockey for position on my bed.
“I don’t care if we have an old car and live in a dog house,” I said to my husband. “Home is where our dogs are.”
“Yes,” he said, as content to be home as I.