Good morning, Grandmama.

Good morning, Grandmama. 

I could feel her warm breath caressing the tip of my toe, slowly traveling up to my knee, my hip, then my tummy. My face would be next. I opened my eyes and looked at her. She pulled her face back. Eyes wide, full of expectation. I closed  my eyes again. Soon, I felt her warm breath on me again, this time mere inches from my face. Some say, her breath smells like a baby’s breath, sweet and innocent. Some say , her breath smells awful,  as rancid as spoiled food straight from the trash can. To me, her breath smells just like what it is: regular dog breath with a hint of mint, from the flavoring added to her water bowl.  

 If I remained with my eyes closed, a small whimper would start to build in the back of her throat. If I kept them closed a little  longer, she would add a frustrated whine to her whimpers. If I pushed it and remained with my eyes closed much longer, she would  begin doing side to side steps of her front paws, a drunken sort of tap dance, to show her impatience. Sometime I teased her by letting her do her  frustrated dance for a little bit. But since it was Sunday morning, I decided to be good.

I opened my eyes. 

Immediately she  pulled her face back, taking her warm breath with her. Leaving a slight chill in the void space. The same cold sensation when the heater fan in our car being suddenly shut off in the cold winter. Her eyes looked into me, watching my next move. 

“ Morning Ana. “ I said. 

 Ana, a fifty five pounder white husky, my son’s dog, who was staying with me for a month, wagged her tail happily, knowing she finally had my full attention. She took a couple steps back then stopped. Came forward, stopped. Stepped back , stopped again. Her eyes shone  with anticipation. 

“ Are you ready to go?. “ I swung my feet off the bed. Ana moved farther back, giving me room to get up. Then, of course, she ran ahead of me to the front door. 

She did her morning stretch as I hooked the leash to her collar. Wagged her tail with an increasing speed. Her nose nudged  my face in appreciation. 

When I opened the front door, both of us took a moment to stand  in the threshold,  taking our time to survey the world outside. Ana was checking to make sure that none of her long extinct predators were  lurking nearby. I was checking and re-checking the neighborhood street, making sure no “predatory “ neighbors were present. Satisfied with her observation, Ana took the urgent steps to the closest patch of grass from the front door then relieved herself. While the human me, not trusting my human observation or instinct, stayed inside the house, using the screen door as a shield  between me and  the outside world. I  had decided, I was not yet ready to share my morning “ Cruella De Vil  run over by one hundred and one Dalmatian puppies.“ look, with the neighborhood. 

                                         

                                    

My Husband’s Weekend Lover

As I rounded the darkened corner, I saw her. My husband’s weekend lover.  She stood demurely a half leaning against the wall. My hearth ached. My blood began pounding through my vein, a  ruckus liquid pool, cruising my vein in frenzied  confusion. My breath shortened, half of me forgot to inhale or exhale. 

Yet, there she was, tall, willowy, elegantly silent.  My presence didn't affect her at all. I was nothing to her. Nothing! How dare, she. 

In the dim light surrounding us, I dared myself to  glare at her. She glared back at me. Actually not all of her. Just her hourglass waist. The spot where I knew my husband held her to dance his weekend hours away. I snorted. She and her kind……only good for that. 

I calmed my self. I could ignore  her as much as she ignored me. I took the steps to pass her and just then…..her finger hooked on to my shirt. What in God name…..?

I swore. My arms flailing this way and that, I tried my best to get away from the  hooked finger. 

“ Get off of me.” I shouted. 

I kicked and hit something. I didn't care what it was. Then I turned and ran. My peripheral vision caught a glimpse of my husband’s lover as she  fell  to the floor. Again, I didn't care. I kept on running. 

When I stepped out into the light, I was gasping, my breath was stop and go a half way around the moon. 

“ Are you all right? “ my husband asked. 

I looked at him. Flustered. “ Of, course.” 

“ Who were you talking to?.” he asked, his head jerking  toward the space behind me. 

“ No, one. “ I lied. 

My husband stared at my empty hands. His eyes questioning. 

I shrugged. “ I changed my mind.” I said. “ I no longer want to paint, I am going to write instead.” 

My husband eyes flicked to the dining room area, where various sizes and shapes of old tarps cover the table, chairs and floor. 

“ Oh…..” My husband said before returning his attention back to the movie on TV. “ …she is crazy.”  I heard him muttered under his breath. 

Crazy…..??  Am I……??? I looked back down into the dimmed basement.  I was  feeling jealous, swearing then fighting with my husband’s ……..fishing pole!!!