I've Still Got it (I think)!

This was published in The Telfair Enterprise in July 2005. It, along with the one about the dead bird, are two of the most commented on columns I've written and people still mention them to me even now.

I’ve Still Got It (I think)!

Like most people my age, I cannot do a lot of things as easily as I used to (if at all) and I worry as I get older about being able to take care of myself.

For instance, I can no longer rise from the floor to a standing position without holding onto anything.

Heck, since arthritis jumped on me with both feet about 15 years ago, I am just happy to get up period without calling for a wrecker for assistance.

However, I learned last week that I can do things in the dark of night that, if asked about in the light of day, I would have sworn I could not do.

An illness in our family has necessitated several trips to Atlanta recently and our children have graciously allowed us to spend nights with them and to bring our dog, Nickson, along.

Last week, my daughter and son-in-law had the dubious pleasure of hosting us. They too have pets but I am not so sure it is an asset in this case.

Their mixed terrier, Rusty, is similar in temperament to our Jack Russell terrier, Nickson, and they get along well. On the surface, it seems like a perfect match.

Wrong.

Both dogs are seniors but when you put them together, they are like naughty pups on speed, in constant motion and running wide open.

No one sleeps because they roam the house all night and if you separate them, they scratch and whine to get to each other so much you still don’t sleep.

Popping them with your bedroom slipper only lasts a little while and is guaranteed to leave you feeling very guilty when you see four big brown eyes looking up at you accusingly.

Our visit last week coincided with Hurricane Cindy and even though Julie and Jamie’s home did not receive the brunt of it, there was a lot of rain and thunder and lighting.

Both animals are horrified of bad weather and while we were all relieved when it finally eased up, the terriers were absolutely delighted.

With their Valium wearing off, the terrible twosome were soon at it again, full steam ahead.

I tried to keep them downstairs with me so the rest of the family could sleep and it worked partially (at least for a little while).

Sometime in the wee hours of Thursday morning, Rusty came and whined in my face to be let out yet again. Nickson was standing right behind him, wagging his tail, “Me too! Me too!”

Once more, I trudged to the back door, turned them both out and waited a while. Rusty finally came back in but Nickson was nowhere to be seen.

There was a moth the size of a baseball flitting around the light just outside the door so I pulled the door partially closed when I went out to call the errant canine back inside.

Evidently, Rusty thought he might be missing something and he tried frantically to get back out.

He reared against the door and pushed it completely shut instead. That would not have been a problem, but the lock clicked on it when it closed, leaving me stranded on a very wet deck, clad only in my nightgown, at 4:00 a.m.

The temperature was still pretty warm but everything was so wet that I couldn’t even sit down and make myself comfortable.

We had a long day full of doctors’ appointments ahead and I really didn’t want to sit there until daylight anyway.

I knew if I knocked loudly, it would set the inside dogs off and wake the baby so I knocked gently several times.

When that didn’t work, I cupped my hands like a megaphone and called towards Julie’s upstairs window several times. Still no results, so I decided to go around the house and ring the doorbell.

One small problem—the gate has a padlock on it.

Resigned to my fate, I knew there was nothing else left to do and at that time of morning, no one was likely to see me make a fool of myself if it didn’t work.

Instead of my usual short summer gown, I had packed a long one so that made my task a bit more interesting.

I hiked it up around my waist, hooked my foot on the crossbar of the 6-foot gate (there is no foothold on the fence anywhere) and pulled myself to the top.

Unfortunately, there is no foothold on the front of the gate either so once I was perched on the round top of it, there was nothing to do but turn loose and hope for the best.

The thick new sod was softened by the rain so all I wound up with was a damp backside and a little bruised pride. (At my age, pride is secondary when the choice is being inside a comfortable house or sitting on a wet deck for three hours.)

Of course, the doorbell woke Julie, the dogs and the baby; but both husbands slept soundly through it all.

After the commotion died down, I learned that particular door has a nasty habit of locking itself and Julie and Jamie actually hid a key outside after locking themselves out a few times.

If I had known that though, none of this would have happened and I would still not know I haven’t completely “lost it.”

Climbing a tall fence in the middle of the night—funny, and cost only a little pride.

Knowing I still can—priceless.