Over the last few weeks, I've been showing Lou how I do various tasks around the house.
Like running the clothes washer for different types of loads: bedsheets vs. black tee shirts vs. towels...
Lou already does almost everything anyway. I really don't have that many jobs assigned to me.
Oh, one of my jobs was to scoop all the dog poop in the back yard the day before the lawn gets mowed. We hired the neighbor's kid to handle that one! (Did I mention how smart Lou is?)
Yesterday we ran through the dog's monthly anti-flea/tick/heartworm regimen.
First I give Bailey a prescription "cookie" for heartworm, and then I squirt the anti-flea oily goo between her shoulder blades.
The toughest part is removing the goo dispenser from the plastic packaging without leaking the goo all over your hands. (Explains why I have no fleas on me.)
Making squirmy Miss Bailey stand still long enough to get the goo out isn't trivial, either, espec if you are attempting it as a one-person job.
There is the rub: the one-person job. I am showing him all this stuff in preparation for when I won't be here anymore.
We hadn't actually talked about that aspect, till yesterday. It was just this un-said thing.
But I got a little upset yesterday.
Every month, for years, when I have done the flea thing, I have made a note with date and whatever is going on that day. It started just as a way for disorganized me to keep track of whether the dogs got their flea stuff done every month.
Like, one old note commemorates the first time Sam got the flea stuff as an "only dog" --- after Molly died.
Like, a more recent note says that Lou took Bailey for her first 3.5 mile walk, which explained why Bailey spent the rest of the day wonderfully asleep and therefore not underfoot at every turn.
Yesterday, I wrote that this was the first time Lou had done it all himself, and I drew a smiley face, even though I was actually a little teary.
So a few hours later, when Lou told me that he thought I had rushed him through the process a little, I admitted that I had been trying to hide being upset. I wasn't upset because I won't be there to squirt the goo and write the note. I was upset that I won't be there, period.
So we held hands for a little while, and I felt better.
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