Sunday at Home

I vowed I would behave myself this weekend and not end up in the gutter as usual. So, I took custody of my beloved dog KiKi upon whom I could shower my attention. “Custody” is a polite form of blackmail as it involves a liberal, monthly stipend, but straight people pay child support, so why shouldn’t I?

Since everyone knew I was home all weekend, I became open game. The Big Game Hunter of all time is Hyacinthe, and she wasted no time in barging in with a visit and a swimsuit. But, it is the way she “barges” that amuses me. Although the door gate locks, the driveway gate does not and allows easy access to the front door (good for mailman, bad for stalkers). Hyachinthe ALWAYS listens at the front door for a moment or two before knocking. Why, I don’t know, but she must think that that cute, little glass globe is a modern ornament of some type and not a surveillance camera. She has this way of sliding the gate open ever so slowly to avoid detection but, when I AM home in the afternoon, I always keep the camera screen in my peripheral.

Like clockwork (that being the time that the sun starts to recede from directly overhead) Hyacinthe is spotted slipping through the gate; although she’s not large, the six inches she’s afforded herself defies the law of physics. I have just finished cooking KiKi a lunch of chicken breast over rice and spinach, so I am fortuitously positioned to see the breach of security. And, sure enough, Hyacinthe listens at the door.

I really don’t know what she expects to hear. The heavy panting of the pool boy? (He only comes on Thursdays to my dismay.) Me dancing and singing to Fred Astair? (Unlikely in mid-afternoon.) But still she listens.

I know she reads this from time to time, but I really don’t think it will stop her. Maybe she’ll just not make that distorted face when she presses up against the door now that she knows she’s on camera.