close the door, and so it goes. I am in the morning room with my coffee, two dogs and two cats. Now we have 1 dog and 2 cats. No dogs, 1 cat. In and out they go.
“Oh mom, I need to go chase the squirrel!”
“Oh mom, I saved you from the squirrel. I need to come in and get praised.”
“Oh mom, the leaf wiggled, I must go check it.”
“Oh mom, my sister is out, I need to be with her.”
“Oh mom, I’ve been out for 30 seconds, I need to come in.”
“Oh mom, my sister didn’t come in, I need to go get her.”
“Oh mom” says Lily, “I’ve been in and had breakfast, now I need out again. NOW!”
And on and on. Because my girls have me well-trained. I know to sit in the chair near the door so that I can interrupt my morning checking the weather, checking Facebook, reading my email, reading my blogs, drinking my coffee to let them out. And in. And out. A pet door, you say? But I need to maintain a modicum of control. Or at least to maintain the illusion that I have some control.
In the moments that I am not required to either open or close the door, I see out the window to the southeast that there is a ferocious war being waged over possession of the bird house out there. The one with the camera in it. A pair of swallows has signed the lease for that house and a second pair seems to think it should belong to them. I must check later this morning to see if perhaps there are eggs in that house requiring such passionate defense.
I see water droplets glistening on the lilac bush to the northeast, the bush that is now mostly in the shade with just enough sun hitting it to make those droplets sparkle as the breeze causes the leaves to sway.
I see one of the bluebirds sitting atop the pine just outside the middle, most eastern window. They are easy to spot, the bluebirds, because they like to sit at the very tippy top of things and they have those slightly chubby-looking, rounded tummies. They are not so aerodynamically designed as the swallows.
Outside the south window the purple leaves of the ornamental plum whose blooms have been gone for awhile now dapple the wall next to it with spots of shadow, breaking up the sunlight hitting the window there. Doing the job we intended when we planted it in that nook formed by the outward jut of the morning room. The “wart” on the end of the house, as husband called it when he first saw it. My morning place.
And around all of this, over all of this, is the green of the grass, shrubs and trees and the blue of the sky, punctuated with fluffy white clouds. My world, my peaceful, precious world.
Excuse me now, I must go open the door again.