Another Attempt

An old dog, even more than an old spouse, always feels like doing what you feel like doing. ~Robert Brault, American writer

Dallas here.

I told Mama you were probably tired of her dumb haikus and Sunday gems by now, and it was time for me to let you know what’s really important in our world.

Mobility, or rather, the lack of it.

Everything was going just fine. Mama removed that horrid shower curtain barrier keeping me away from her while she was working on her computer, yakking on the phone, or playing her flute. The holistic glucosamine was helping my old hip joints.

Life was good.

Then Mama went on a sister trip and stuck me at the kennel. No stairs, but no Mama either.

And don’t ask me how, but she forgot to pack my glucosamine so I was what they call “stoved up” when she came to fetch me.

And this time, I really couldn’t get up the stairs so I decided to play on Mama’s guilt over abandoning me and demanded she taxi me up. Worked fine until her chiropractor and my dog-tur cautioned against it for our safety.

Hmph, what do they know?

Anyhoo, the other day Mama raced off to the local home improvement store, returning with all sorts of odd-looking items which she put together thusly:

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She says it’s a DIY doggie-gate, one I can’t get through no matter how hard I try — and trust me, I’ve tried!

It’s made of PVC pipes and plastic garden netting, strung together with zip ties. It extends across the entire stair opening, even wrapping around the sides and tucking neatly under the bannisters.

She can slide it aside to get through or gingerly climb over it, but I can’t.

Now I have to listen to Mama’s flute from afar while staring her down through these holes.

Like a common prisoner.

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Shame on you, Mama.

I thought we’d be together forever.