As I walked home from Dr. Bonnelly’s house, I thought about the challenges taking care of Alexia and Billy brought me. Here I’m thinking that 2 older children would be easier. At least they could communicate better, and wipe their butts when finished with their business. The problem is that I find the more I communicate, the less they listen. As for the butt wiping thing, I draw the line there!  I’m starting to learn that every age group has their advantages and their sets of problems.

When I got home, mom had just picked up an elderly person that she takes care of every once in a while. She would bring him over to our house and take care of him as needed. Downstairs in the finished basement she had a bed and some clothes in case he needed to stay overnight. He also had a cat named Linus that he would occasionally bring with him. That was fine by us, but unfortunately, Linus and Prissy were mortal enemies. The cat would hiss at Prissy . . . Prissy would growl back at the cat. . . Linus would try to claw Prissy and Prissy would run away. Prissy’s hair in the back of her neck would stand up once the cat walked in the house. Prissy would sit on top of the arm rest of dad’s recliner and scope out every single move the cat would make. She didn’t move her body or her head, just her eyes. Creepy.

But my mother didn’t mind bringing them over. As long as I can remember, mom tried doing jobs that would revolve around the family’s schedule. She says her first and most important job in the world was to keep her family happy and well fed. My mother is very nurturing, so she loves taking care of people. She's been taking care of seniors for years, maybe decades. Families would drop off their parents for my mother to take care of them or my mom would pick them up and bring them to the house. It was like an elderly day care center. Instead of toys, coloring books and blocks, we have walkers, wheelchairs and portable potties and lots of crossword puzzles just lying around the house.

I’m sure the seniors also enjoyed the difference in scenery being in someone else’s home. They would sit outside in the garden;  play with Prissy; enjoyed when me and my brother would get home from school, smiling at the back and forth dialogue of a good argument between siblings (probably reminiscing of their own young family);  or just being around another human being. 

Mom was kind of busy today and dinner was going to be late, so my brother and I decided to go out and get some pizza and stop by the library to drop of some books that were overdue. Mom was taking care of Mr. Hetherington that afternoon. It was actually Captain Lieutenant Perceval Jeffrey Hetherington. He served for 52 years in the National Guard defending our country and protecting our land. Now he enjoys a good ginger ale, watching cartoons and taking out his false teeth in front of other people. He showed us a picture of him in uniform one day, and I got to say, wow!  He sure was a good looking man. But even after all these years he is still very proper and militant.

“Hey mom," I said as I entered the house.

"Yo, mom," Ian said.

"Yo mom?” mom said. “Ian please, I believe your vocabulary is a little better then that!"

“Okay . . . yo-yo mom,” he said.                                                              

“That’s better.” Sigh

"What-cha cooking?" I asked.

"Rocks.”

"Ah come one.”

"Okay, rocks in a snake stew.”

"MmmMmm, snake strew with a side of rocks, my favorite," Ian said.

"You’re a butt head, you know that," my mom said to Ian 

“Uuuuuuuuuu, mommy with a potty mouth . . . you kiss your mama with that mouth?” Ian said to mom sarcastically looking through the fridge for something to drink. “You wonder where we get the potty mouth in this family.”

“That would come from your father’s side of the family dear,” mom said.

“Say, where’s the old person?” Ian asked taking out a juice boxes from the fridge and throwing one over to me. 

“His name is Captain Lieutenant Perceval Jeffrey Hetherington. And be careful, you’re looking at your future,” my mom said very seriously pointing at us.

Oh, my. We would get that old one day too?

“Ah, ah, ah . . . not polite to point,” Ian said. “My mother taught me that.” 

 “And who calls their son Perceval?” I asked. A deep sigh came from my mom.

Captain Hetherington has the beginnings of dementia, which mom explained to us it was associated with elderly people and one of the symptoms are a decline of memory or thinking skills, sever enough to reduce a person’s ability to perform everyday activates. 

“He’s a nice, distinctive gentleman,” mom said. “So you mind him.” She continued while still busy heating up some soup for Mr. Hetherington. “I gave him a nice bath, but had a lot of trouble putting on his pants. He said they’re too tight, so I just gave him one of your dad’s robes.”

“Mom, we weren’t asking for details just his approximate location in the house,” I said. Slerp.

“Anyway, I took him outside to the garden with Prissy, so he could get a little of sun and water the plants . . . he likes watering the plants.”

“Is Lucifer here?” Ian asked with a droll tone.

“It’s Linus, and yes he is here . . . somewhere, underneath something, hiding.”

            Ian and I switched our attention to the sliding glass door where Prissy was scratching trying to get in. We just stood there for a minute or so, because we couldn’t believe what we were seeing.

And my mom continued, “You two should take more of an interest in your community of senior citizen, they’ve earned our respect.”

“Mom,” I said.

“You would be surprised how fulfilling it is to help a person that can’t help themselves anymore.”

“Mom,” Ian said.

“You both should start with your own grandparents you know.”

“Mom,” we both interrupted.

“That would make them very happy.”

“MOM!” we both screamed. “What is Captain Hetherington doing outside?”

Captain Hetherington was supposed to be outside in the garden with Prissy, watering the flowers. But he decided he also wanted to sun bathe in the nude and used another type of hose to water the plants. From our angle, it looked like he was holding his wee wee to water the flowers, with the water pressure on full throttle. No problem with the plumbing there!

“Captain, Captain Hetherington, no!” My mom said as she went outside to cover him up with the robe he left on top of a patio chair and brought him in. “Oh my gosh, Captain Hetherington, no, no, no, you can’t do this.”

Ian and I backed up from the door as they came in.

“He doesn’t have leprosy, he just has no clothes on,” my mom said to us as she was walking in with the old man.  He was oblivious to what just happened. He had no idea he was a bad boy.

So mom took him down to the basement were she had her senior playroom. She put him in bed, turned on ‘Dragon’s Tales’ (his favorite), and gave him a blue pill, that for sure will make him sleep until the next day. The next thing we knew the door bell rang and it was Mrs. Stockwell from next door. She is the least tactful nosiest person in the neighborhood. 

“Hello Helen,” my mom said when she opened the door in kind of ‘I know what she wants’ way. Mrs. Stockwell was from the south, somewhere, Georgia, Alabama or Hell. She wore high hair and shocking red lipstick and had a big clumsy English Bull Dog that she called General Grant, because she says his great-great-great grand papi was owned by General Ulysses Grant. No wonder the south lost the war, all the soldiers had to do is take one look at his dog and run up as far north as possible. I love animals, but wow, this dog is so ugly… he’s, he’s beautiful. 

“Goo’ afternoon, Katherine, I do declare. When are you going to learn how to control your clients? They ‘re children livin’ in this community,” she said in a snooty southern accent. Ian and I just stood behind the door laughing with my mom gesturing with one of her arms to shut up. 

“Mrs. Stockwell, Helen, I do believe your children did not see Captain Hetherington running in the bare, I’m I correct?”

“Yes, well sort of,” Mrs. Stockwell said.

“Yes, maybe because you DON’T have any children, is that not correct Mrs. Stockwell,” mom said very forcefully. You go mom!

“And isn’t it true, Mrs. Stockwell, even if you had the blessing of having children, they probably would not have  been peeking out of their bedroom window in the middle of the day, isn’t that correct Mrs. Stockwell?”

“Well, I could not tell you…”

“So, maybe if you would keep your eyes to yourself and mind your own business, you wouldn’t be seeing men with no cloths from your bedroom window…oh, I’m sorry, or is it that you couldn’t help yourself from looking because… you haven’t seen a naked man in oh maybe, NEVER!”

“Well, I’ve never!” Mrs. Stockwell said in a huff walking away.

“Yeah honey, I think that’s your problem, YOU’VE NEVERED!” my mom shouted outside as Mrs. Stockwell left with her dog huffing and puffing just like his owner. My mom slammed the door shut and rested against it for a moment. She usually doesn’t get this huffy with people, she has the patience of a saint.

“High five, mom! Way to go! You got her good!” we both chanted.

“Noooooooo,” she said sharply, swinging her index finger at us. “Don’t-you-dare-tell-any-of-this-to-your-dad!”  And she turned around and left.        

We both just looked at each other and started to laugh. Then we looked outside the big bay window in front of the house and notice a long trace of dog slobber along our walk way.

“Great, ugly dog slobber, the worst to clean.”

****   ****   ****

Ian and I went out front to clean up some of the slobber when we saw a man dressed in Khaki shorts and a brown shirt that said ‘Pampered Pooch - You Bark, We Park.’  And with him he had Sandy's 3 Danes. The dogs were walking right beside the man, very straight and all in unisons. Wow, I wish I could walk my dog like that. 

"Hey, Ian those are Sandy's dogs I was telling you about,” I told my brother.

"Is that the dad walking them?" he asked.

"No, she told me they had a service to walk them, and groom them, and train them, and show them.”

"Are you kiddin’?"

"No, I wish I was.”

"Wow, compared to Prissy, they sure are big,” Ian said. "I can't believe as old as Prissy is she really thought she could chase these 3 beasts down.”

“It’s Prissy’s world and we just live in it,” I said.

"Yeah, I guess small dogs just don't understand how small they really are,” Ian said.

They really don't. Like Prissy really thought she could take these three dogs down? And if she could out run them, then what? Was she going to destroy them one ankle bite at a time?

"Just remember,” I told my brother as we were finished cleaning the dog slobber, “if you ever take Prissy out, please put her on her leash.”

"I don't walk dogs," Ian said very sternly. "Besides, she's your crazy old dog, not mine.”               

Alrighty then.