A little something from 'Pondering the Sky'

 

  When I was a young boy, we fed our family dog at 10 pm.  We would often ask her if she “knew what time it was” and with her two bark answer we’d reply, “That’s right.” Routine behavior or not, she was Corgi-smart. Soon we no longer asked, the pre-ten o’clock news announcement of “It’s Ten O’clock, do you know where your children are?” took care of it for us.  The ears piqued, followed by that two-bark note. Then she would impatiently pace back and forth, in silent anticipation as we dished out her food, then with the shave and haircut, two bits tap of the fork she’d approach. Her dish often licked clean by the time the fork reached the kitchen sink.

  When I was a young boy, my father – the hardest working man I’d ever known – was asleep by 9 pm.  Every evening, after supper, he’d take to his Barcalounger, recline to watch television, and be asleep by nine.  At times, our Corgi would climb up into the crack between him and the armrest and join him – for at least an hour, until she was reminded what time it was.

  As I grew and came home later, or simply came down for late night snack. I found often find my father sitting at the kitchen table indulging in sardines & crackers, a glass of buttermilk filled with cornbread, or some such item from the insomniac’s menu. Some nights I would sit with him, politely refusing the offered taste of whatever delicacy he was partaking in, as he then offered to the dog – who. For the record, never refused.  I would pat my father on the chest, kiss him the top of his head, as I headed off to bed myself.  Away from the kitchen, I would sit on the stairs and watch them – this man who worked hard with only that one peaceful hour of sleep and that dog who ate only meal at 10 pm.