A SIMPLE BURIAL FOR THE OL’ DAISY DUKES

This is not just about my own dainty size six Daisy Dukes; “Cut-Offs”, as they are known to most of us Baby Boomers. I gave mine a very simple burial in the bottom of a Salvation Army donation bag about 16 years ago; only until I saw the Salvation Army truck pull up in front of my house. This left little chance that I would retrieve them once again from the donation bag, only to return them safely back to their cherished spot in my dresser drawer. I had out grown those little jewels years before, but until then, I could not bring myself to part with them … just in case I could squeeze into them once more. Only after the truck pulled away from our curb was I able to even think about some deserving young woman finding such a prize on the rack at the Salvation Army. Could she do them justice, though? I wept bitterly. As most women my age, my shorts are of the Bermuda variety, or I wear Capri’s. And, as I’ve said before, I do look much better in clothes than out of them, and have, ever since I out grew my beloved Daisy Dukes…long before I parted with them.

Enough about my reminiscences, wailings and losses. This is about the Royster’s Daisy Dukes. He was going through a drawer full of shorts, deciding which to keep and which to give away. After all, I’d been bugging him for weeks to clean out that drawer. He tried on each pair before making a decision as to their fate. He picked up these very seasoned cut-offs and waved them at me. “Hey! Remember these?” And, he stepped into them as if he’d just worn them yesterday. Yes, he still looked fabulous in them. Even when he tried them on, just two hours ago, they fit, but somehow, it just wasn’t the same. No, it just wasn’t right. He said that he’d only wear them to work in the yard, certainly not to any social events. Well, I should hope not!


It may just be our age, or maybe it’s the fact that his cut-offs still fit him long after I’d out-grown my own, but it’s just not the same. I was hoping he’d put them straight in the donation bag. As it was, he put them in the stack of shorts to save, and I went about my Saturday chores with my mind still on those damned Daisy Dukes! And, they still fit him! How dare him flaunt that pair of cut-offs in front of me; especially since I had out grown mine so many years ago! And, they fit him!

Soon I was absorbed into my lawn watering, laundry washing, and baking. I forgot all about the cut-offs, and was able to be amicable. We ran a couple of errands, and returned to have lunch and rest up, as some of us must do if we are going out for the evening. As I cleaned up our lunch dishes, and walked back to the bedroom, I saw The Royster’s cut-offs in the waste basket. How heart breaking! What a heartless farewell for something so divine, so cherished, so full of history! Oh, the beaches they saw and the parties they went to! If those cut-offs could talk, what tales they would tell! I went to get my camera, and took one last picture of them.

We will always have fond memories of the summer apparel of the 60’s; cut-offs tee-shirts or halter-tops and flip-flops. PARTY TIME!!!!.

HOUNDED BY A PRO

I’ve thought seriously about calling Cesar Millan about this. The only reason I haven’t contacted him is that I know that he will immediately see what milk toast we both are under Hanks whims and demands. He will also tell us that we need to walk Hank twice a day for 45 minutes each time. If I can remember while it’s cool in the mornings, I will load up my pockets with poo bags and take him for a romp around the neighborhood for a few blocks. Maybe Cesar would tell us that Hank is a work dog, and that he needs a job. Snort! I have tried for almost 7 years to get Hank to carry in the newspaper in the morning. The dog knows what I am asking him to do, and knows how to do it, but he just looks at me as if to say…. “Get it yourself, you lazy, bossy, Alpha Lady!” If the truth be known, he enjoys using his energy to show off with the tricks he can still do, and he will at every opportunity. That’s pretty darn good for being 14 years old.

For the last three nights we have had our sleep interrupted by Hank. He would start pacing and panting at about 10:30 p.m. This is how we knew he was getting ready to hound us….literally. His next move was to come to one side of our bed or the other, preferably The Royster’s side, and sit as close as possible, so that he had his nose right in front of his face. Then he would place his paws on the edge of the bed and start with the panting again. This was intended to wake up The Royster, who would immediately send him packing back to his own bed. Maybe he thought this would get better results going to The Royster, because Roy is really Hanks litter mate, and he might get up to play with him. I was only his choice when he was rejected by the occupant on the other side of the bed. He seems to view me (maybe) as “that Alpha Lady that makes me do stuff”.

The first night of his pacing, panting and pawing gave me concern. I truly thought maybe he was sick, or maybe that he even had fleas again. Mind you, Hank had never had fleas before last summer, when, for some reason he got a healthy dose of them. I never saw them until I’d taken him to the vet to see what was wrong with the pacing, panting and pawing dog. I ended up treating every inch of the house with an expensive version boric acid. Believe me, it’s the same stuff with a fancy (technical) name. That seemed to do the trick. This time, I’ve looked in all the usual places on this dog for the tiny, agony causing bugs. No. He doesn’t have any fleas. The groomer also said Hank doesn’t have fleas.

For the next two nights I got up and down several times to play Dog Whisperer. I would sit up, clap my hands loudly (he’s almost deaf), and point to the bedroom exit. At which time Hank would slink out, dejected. Thirty minutes later, he was back at it. Pace, pant, paw. I can’t sleep! Pleeeeeze get up and play with me! I just can’t stay up all by myself! Roy and I were both becoming dangerously sleep deprived, and very frustrated. I would get up and make the dog lie in a prone, submissive position, and then place a claw-like hand on his throat. This is supposed to be like the mother dog’s mouth on her puppy’s neck….disciplining him. This Cesar Millan technique worked for about 45 minutes. I’m not sure how many times I did that, but, the pace, pant and paw would begin anew each time. I started closing the bedroom door to keep him out, which was just agonizing for Hank. Now, he really was really making a scene. He would sit outside our bedroom mumbling, barking and rattling the door.

Last night was about to break both of us. At exactly 10:30 p.m. I could hear the pacing and panting start. I jumped up, threw open the bedroom door, and ran into the living room. Hank could see me coming, and quickly assumed the prone, submissive position. He would actually beat me to it each time. As I’d start to walk away, his head would pop up, and I’d go over and make the claw-like fingers on his throat again. The last time, he headed for the back door, meaning that he really had to go. What - a - liar! I actually felt a little sorry for him, but that didn’t last long. When I let him out, he just went over to his favorite grassy spot by the patio to lie down. I think he was actually waiting for me to pull up a chair and join him. He thought he had won that round. By then, I was wide awake and more than a little irritated, so, I just closed the door….rather firmly. I glanced back to see him get up and head for the door to protest. I just turned around and headed back to bed. The Royster was still awake.

R. - “Where’s Hank?”

M. - “I threw him out in the back yard! He can just sleep out there tonight!”

R. - “Why did you do that? He’ll just be going from one back door to the other, barking all night long! We still won’t get any sleep.”

M. - “Well, YOU to do something with him!

The Royster got up and took a cigarette with him to smoke and have a man-to-man talk with Hank. I think it really made an impression on Hank by throwing him out. He really didn’t want to spend the night alone in the back yard. He slept all night after that….or, he just didn’t disturb us.

I truly believe that as an old dog, Hank is getting way too much sleep during the day. He’s not standing guard at the windows as much. So, I’ve been nudging him awake when I can catch him starting to nap. This morning, I took him outside with me while it was cool enough to do a little gardening. We’d been out there about 30 minutes when he strutted up to me. “Hey! Look at me! I found some really cool mud to roll in!” I wasn’t amused, but I already had the hose in hand to fill up one of the birdbaths, so I just collared Hank and gave him a really good rinsing off, and continued with my back yard chores. In five minutes, movement caught my eye out in the yard. Sure enough, Hank was drying himself off in a select mound of dirt.

I went in and got my skinny Cesar Millan leash, and hooked Hank up to the gate, gathered up my dog washing stuff and gave him a good scrubbing. He doesn’t give me any resistance when I bathe him, but he doesn’t like it because I leave him hooked on the gate until he’s dry enough to let in the house. Today was no exception I left him there in the shade on the patio with several large towels to roll in and a big bowl of water. I was able to ignore Hank's grumbling while I finished cleaning out a flowerbed to put in a variety of mint plants. At least he wasn’t napping. Maybe tonight he will be exhausted enough from “helping” me out in the yard to actually sleep through the night without hounding us. Hell! Maybe I'll be exhausted enough.

I’m off to the eye-lid movies! Night y’all!