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Cinnamon's "Sugars" By Mary-Ellen Grisham
One spring as Mother's Day drew close, I was thinking a lot about my parents, particularly mom...with her love of home, children, and pets. My folks had always kept a pet rabbit for me when I was small, and we waged an off and on battle with the other pets in the neighborhood to keep her safe. Soon I was to have a reminder of all the topsy-turvy fun of home.
One morning, gentle breezes were wafting under my shade through the open window. Sleep was so delicious on that cool, fragrant morning that I kept dozing off again. Suddenly, I heard our flop-eared female rabbit, Cinnamon, begin to thump. She is a large rabbit, and when she gets upset, we can usually hear her. I jumped out of bed and peeked out the blind to see what the trouble was.
There, frisking around the hutch, were two friendly dogs--a light golden Retriever and a dark golden Spitz. I grabbed my cotton robe and shoved my feet into velcro booties. When I got out in the backyard, I could not figure how the dogs got in, but after letting the critters run and romp, I led them over to one of the side gates to let them out. They demanded pats and assurances that I thought they were the best of creatures. Then they willingly left the yard. I checked to make absolutely certain both gates were shut and latched--then tore upstairs to bathe and dress.
While I finished dressing, I once again heard thumping and leaping as Cinnamon dove into the sheltered and enclosed end of her hutch. Looking out the window, I could not believe my eyes. There were her two frisky friends back again, grinning from ear to ear, teasing her, and leaping around the hutch.
Out to the backyard again, I ran! After mutually satisfying strokes, I once again let the dogs out the gate. The golden Spitz, with purple tongue hanging, eyed me hopefully as if he regretted my decision. This time I checked the fence all around very thoroughly. I could only conclude that the spot where my husband had removed Yuccas and Daylilies was giving the dogs clearance for a jump from the hill of the side yard next door.
Very soon, the two dogs were running up and down the backyard again. By this time I was both amused and aggravated. I went out, tried to soothe a most upset Cinnamon, and then promptly led the dogs to the gate. No strokes, no assurances--just out! They still looked as if they wanted to play and kept running back to the gate to me. Scanning my memories of neighborhood dogs from my childhood and relying on intuition, I looked severely at the romping dogs and said, "GO HOME!" They both looked at me, the Spitz soberly, the Retriever grinning and playful. I repeated, "GO HOME," loudly and firmly, with forceful gesture, two more times. Then both dogs took off running.
I heard two workers on the roof up the street say, "Boy, look at those dogs go!" Smiling, I remembered my mom standing at our old Quiet Lane back gate, hand on hip, a mock stern expression on her face, index finger pointing from an outstretched arm, and laughed. It was still a workable command!
(c) 2003 Mary-Ellen Grisham
Mary-Ellen is a Christian writer and teacher living in Godfrey, Illinois, with her husband and son. She writes for a number of inspirational sites on the Internet and is the acting editor of Eternal Ink, a bi-monthly Christian ezine. |
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