My mother, a former “dogs are cute from a distance” type of person, is so in love with my dogs that she’s memorized all of their habits and idiosyncrasies. Last week at her cabin in Duchesne I’d perform the morning routine of releasing them from their crates, feeding them breakfast, and letting them outside. When I’d bring them back inside she’d do what she’s not supposed to do and squeal at them in the loudest voice possible and then open the back door that faces east to let them bask in the sun and look for wildlife. If anyone accidentally closed that door she was right on top of it with a, “HEY! Leave that open for Chuck and Coco!”
Did I ever tell you about the time that she forgot my 24th birthday? No? She forgot my 24th birthday.