By Georgia Osten
As I get older, I realize what I can and cannot do anymore, physically, that is. I can’t chase after the dog when it’s time to bathe her or give her medicine or keep her from eating something disgusting on the beach. I’ll never forget when she was still a puppy, she found a plastic bag on the beach with something disgusting in it, and the more I tried to get her to let it go, the harder she ran to get away from me. She eventually swallowed the whole bag. I worried and worried, would it get twisted in her intestines? I guess it was the next day or two days after, it was time for her to “get rid” of the bag in the normal process of a body getting rid of anything. My husband happened to be out in the yard with her at the time. There was the bag, partially “gotten rid of.” He told me the story of how he had to help her with the rest of the bag. I was so relieved she was relieved, but just the thought of my finicky husband being able to do this blows me away.
Lately, I cleaned Maezy’s ears with peroxide and alcohol and noticed they were really red. I found the outdated medicine we used to use for Ruby’s ears and went to look for Maezy. There she was hiding in the closet behind the dirty clothes basket. She knew I couldn’t get to her in there. What’s a Mom to do?
It reminded me about the time over 5 years ago when we were babysitting our granddaughter. We had traveled to Wimberley for a wedding where Addyson was the flower girl. She performed perfectly in her role in the wedding. After we stayed late enough for a two year old, being the ever diligent grandparents, we offered to take her back to the cabin we had rented. We stripped her of her beautiful flouncy dress and I prepared the bath. When I came out to get her, the chase ensued, round and round the cabin, where she finally ended up under the dining table. No way was Grandma going to nab her. PawPaw laughed and laughed. I figured, and she knew, by the time Grandma got down on the floor to get under the table, she could escape and be clear across the house.
I think we finally lured her out of hiding with a bowl of ice cream. What’s a Grandma to do?
[5-23-2016]
GO’s Sand Bucket is only one beach bum’s journal of life at the beach, probably something each of you can relate to. Please feel free to email me with your thoughts, visions and/or feelings of just exactly what the beach means to you.
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