Whoever said diamonds are a girl’s best friend never had a dog.
I went to my hometown a couple of weekends ago to see Mom. As Baxter and I strolled down the hall toward the wing of her nursing home, residents began to call from their rooms for me to slow down.
Seems they’d been expecting me. My mama is a talker.
And while many of them cannot remember their own names, much less mine, they readily called out, “Hold up, Little Missy! Let me pet Baxter!” when they saw us pass.
Yes, Baxter (or “Bax” as I affectionately call him) is a magnet at the nursing home. Actually, he’s a magnet in many locales, but we need to work a little bit on what he attracts.
Folks began wheeling themselves out of their rooms and the hallway started filling up. Bax held still except for the gentle sweeping of his long tail back and forth as multitudes of bony fingers tangled in his fur.
“He shore is purdy,” said one lady as she cupped his face in her hands.
“Yep, that’s a good lookin’ pup,” echoed a gentleman a few feet away. “I used to have me a pup. Named ‘im Rascal. We used to go fishin’ a lot.”
He’s so soft! How old is he? What breed is he? Can he stay in my room? Can I hold him? Can we both go outside to pee?
Okay, that would be our cue to mosey on, I reckoned. Mom heard the commotion and was anxious about us getting down to her room so she could see the only grandbaby I’ve spawned for her.
Bax sprang up on Mom’s bed and showered her with kisses as she squealed in delight. After a good five minutes, she acknowledged her only child, too.
I pulled the car around and arranged things to accommodate Mom and her wheelchair while she chattered nonstop with Bax, citing all the things we’d do that afternoon. We loaded up and headed into town toward an afternoon of sight-seeing, gallivanting and dining out.
After a few hours, Mom was beginning to fade and, to be honest, I was fading right behind her. No exercise routine in my arsenal is as rigorous as spending an afternoon in “handicapped accessible” buildings which are in no way accessible to the handicapped.
Progress arrives in my old hometown at the rate it dang well chooses. Plus, it was an afternoon with my mother who, as I’ve noted previously, has an uncanny ability to push my buttons. We’d both gone from can till can’t, so we started heading back to the nursing home.
On the drive, Mom started talking about things of the past — her old homestead mainly — as confusion began to take its recurrent hold of her. I utilized my reflective-listening skills and the art of misdirection (“Look! Squirrel!), which work wonders for any age or condition.
Mom looked out the window. “I never get to go anywhere or do anything,” she said.
The good caretaker was immediately replaced by the exhausted daughter. “What have we done all afternoon?” I clamored. “We’ve shopped and ate and been gone for hours!”
Mom stared at me blankly for what seemed like a decade. Finally, she said, “Where did we go?”
I guess what screws us up most in life is the picture in our head of how things are supposed to be, an image holding expectations that reality can rarely meet.
Once back inside the nursing home, Mom held tightly onto Baxter’s leash as he pulled her chariot down the hall toward her room. She smiled at folks and told them how she’d had a wonderful afternoon about town.
And she had. It really didn’t matter what we’d done or whether she could recall the details. She knew enough. She knew she’d had fun. She knew she was safe and loved.
And she knew a beloved pup had been there beside her the whole time, sharing in the adventure. She was happy in the moment.
There are worse things in this life than being confused and content. As Bax made the turn to deposit Mom back in her room, they both turned and waved, Mom with her hand and Bax with his tail.
It’s possible they’ve outsmarted us all.
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LISA KELLEY IS A WRITER, MASTER GARDENER, ANIMAL LOVER AND ALL-AROUND GOOD OL’ SOUTHERN GAL WHO ALSO HAPPENS TO PRACTICE LAW AND MEDIATE CASES IN DOWNTOWN BENTONVILLE.