Cathy in the Wright

I returned to the nursing home today for the first time in months. I had told the staff I was taking November and December off so I could prepare for the holidays. Plus it seemed a good idea to allow some time for the the memory of the embarrassing dog fight to fade.

I somehow managed to redefine the "holiday season" as extending through both Martin Luther King Jr. Day and Valentine's Day. I was going to go for St. Patrick's Day too, but I was afraid if I let too much time pass, they might require me to pass another background check. Not that anything new might show up on my record, but the court system in Wright County is a bit speedier than in other parts of the country.

So I signed The Governor up for the in-house day care and off we went. Only The Gov did not want to play with the other kids. He was determined to accompany me on my rounds. He wanted to go with me to visit with my friends. So I told him, Okay, Gov, you can come with me. But you have to be polite. No squirming or fidgeting and no saying, "I'm bored, can we go?" Okay? A necessary warning, believe me. He agreed. He made it about five minutes into the first visit before he whispered, "Where's the food?"

Apparently the dog must have been filling him in on the various snack windfalls along the route. Hoocher could not walk fifteen feet without someone shoving a biscuit or treat of some sort under his nose.

I told The Gov he was out of luck. No food. No begging. Or it was back to the daycare center. He grudgingly agreed. I thought for sure he'd want to head back and play, but he stuck it out and came with me. And sure enough, he hit paydirt in Mr. H's room.

The Gov had met Mr. H. before. He's a local craftsman who happens to be staying at the nursing home while he recovers from a broken bone. While we were chatting with another resident, Mr. H. spied us from his room across the hall and started calling to The Gov, "Do you want a cookie?" The Governor bolted.

When I finally caught up with him, The Governor was half-way through his treat. And not just a bite-sized treat from the ubiquitous tins of Danish butter cookies that seem to grace every room, but a large Valentine's cookie complete with pink frosting and sprinkles. And washing it all down with gulps from Mr. H.'s water pitcher.

Swell. He'll never want to go to the daycare center now. They get crackers for snack time there.

Hope you heal up quickly, Mr. H. Otherwise you're my new daycare.

Posted by Cathy at February 16, 2006 02:41 PM