The quiet of an emptied homestead after a full house of guests for Thanksgiving week was almost unnerving, even while I eased myself into the restful space created by the Black Friday departures.
Sumner and Scarlett may not know how to have so much time with just us hanging together, but we found our way.
Cleaning and chores and laundry and organizing took their places on my freed agenda but there also had to be quality time with the pooches who’d suddenly lost so many sources of entertainment and interaction. That day passed uneventfully save for the brutal downtown tug battle when I took both pooches out for an afternoon stroll.
They play so much and so well at home (and poop dutifully and conveniently in the designated areas of the yard) that leaving the property for exercise (or excretion) is rare. I was out of practice and out of shape and they were nearly out of control, initially. Then we found our rhythm and it was chilly but pleasant at least when the sun poked through.
Saturday dawned bright and frigid, with a temperature we hadn’t had since last January, or so said the weatherman breathlessly. We had good reason to stay tucked in, mostly, but with stilled breezes and doses of sunshine, our outside treks for pooch priorities were not as inhospitable as the thermometer might have warned.
Trapped as I was in the early hours of the day by a slightly gassy Sumner splayed on my lap while the second cup of coffee was nursed, I turned to my typical amusements, like writing this too-long blog post. But now you know how began November’s final day at the Roediger House.
Sumner must've decided he liked the idea of taking full advantage of those long stretches on my lap because that was the story he wrote for me most of the rest of the day. I’m not used to being that sedentary but he is so very sweet and seemed to need all that closeness. Scarlett is much less demanding and considerably less affectionate. Our biggest break was for our respective suppers, when I had the oversized plate of Thanksgiving leftovers:
...and I sat with them while they tackled their evening bowls of food.
Sunday dawned a nudge colder, still below freezing, with skies that were not quite clear. In keeping with custom, those pooches slept in a while and I did not rouse them until about 8:30 am. And up they popped, happy and delighted and full of energy and good spirit...and in no way stilled or stalled by the early brush with winterlike temps lying so heavily on the week's forecast.
They do play well but sometimes they play rough, and now Sumner has a dew claw to nurse for a day or so:
And since that outside time is precious to them, even if I’m not fond of the late afternoon cloud cover when it’s in the 40s, at least it incentivized the very necessary Phase Two leaf raking.
Warm though it made me to engage in those outdoor autumn labors, I planned in advance to have the comfort of my grandmother’s incredible quilt to get through the continuing chill that’s accompanied the conclusion of this cherished holiday.
