The scent of an excellent Italian
red sauce wanders through the house.
Meatballs are simmering in the sauce.
Water for linguine is trying to boil.
And I am about to listen to The PBS News Hour.
I love when the scent of a good
meal permeates the atmosphere of the house.
When people walk in & are either immediately hungry or ask what I am
cooking.
It is the Wednesday after another
weekend of hosting my sister Janet’s dog Zoe.
Zoe is a rescue dog, a female Cairn
terrier. She has proven herself a stress
free & welcome guest.
We go on walks together & she
always finds her way into a space next to me to sleep.
Zoe is not a talker like my
beloved wire haired dachshund mix Eli.
She does not bark when she needs to go outside.
In her defense, Zoe is accustomed
to a doggie door. Accustomed to
wandering in her territory at will. As
are most of us.
On her first visit with us, I let
Zoe have free reign in our back yard because Eli never got out. I was convinced there were no exits from
which Zoe could escape.
I was wrong. She found an exit – I was in a panic. Zoe was a guest for less than two hours &
I lost her.
I was an irresponsible dog
sitter. I failed my sister’s trust.
Fifteen minutes later, Zoe
returned – traipsing up my neighbor Juta’s sidewalk as I asked if Juta had seen
her.
Looking as if she had just been
out for a stroll, Zoe came to me when I called her name. And I explained to her she no longer had free
reign.
The very first time I knew I was
missing Zoe’s signals on when she wanted to go outside to take care of
business, she left a very small turd by the back door. Not the mother lode, just a wee bit.
I knew I was still missing the
signals when Zoe gave up subtle hints & left all her lode by the back door.
So I observed & finally
understood that Zoe staring at the back door meant she needed to go outside.
I have been reminded by Zoe, a
quiet little being, how essential it is to listen & observe.
Sometimes it is not enough or
efficient to wait for verbal requests.
Unless you are willing to clean
up the shitty aftermath.
Meanwhile, I have created the
moistest, most tender meatballs of my forty years of cooking. Thank you, Mario Batali.
