Pray that my mother-in-law lives to get back home, for I may kill her…just for kicks.
If you remember, Judy drove up to NJ for some needed meetings with her team, so Granny Dot decided to ride back with her. The trip was uneventful except for stopping at ever other rest area and eating three meals a day. That is okay, though. She is 87 and her body filled of two dozen drugs and patches does not operate like normal people’s body.
But the thing is, she is forgetful. And she will forget to close a door when told three hundred and twenty-seven thousand times to close the door when she leaves her room or the bathroom. We have two beautiful dogs that are getting up there in age and, though they are house broken, will mosey into a room they aren’t use to and mark it as theirs.
We also have chickens in the yard. And we have two chicks in a homemade coop in the tub in the spare bathroom. The bathroom door has to be kept closed, mostly to keep the cats from having a chicken dinner. But the cats love human contact and love to be petted and rubbed. So we have to keep them in the office while Dot is here because she claims they scratch her when they jump in her lap. Well, they are cats, and I can’t help but wish they would drag her under the bed and eat her. But they aren’t very big cats and she is like a beach ball on toothpicks. They would have to eat her in her chair, and I don’t want to clean up that mess.
Anyseniledot, Judy, my grandson and me were outside building a new chicken coop when Dot came to the door yelling for help. Well, if she could waddle to the door, I knew she was okay (she fell the first night she was here – more on that later). She was shooing one of the dogs and trying to make it move.
There on the floor was a dead chick. Dot had gone to the bathroom and didn’t shut the door on the way out. One of the dogs thought she had found her on Zaxby’s and grabbed one of the chicks. Well, that was bad, but I wasn’t upset until Dot said, “I don’t know who left the door open.”
“Dot,” I said, “no one was in the house all morning but YOU! We have been outside working. No one else was in the house but you.”
“Well, it wasn’t me.”
“Yes, Dot, it WAS YOU and stop lying. You are making it worse.”
So she started crying and pouting. That does not work for me. I told her to get over it and quit acting like a baby. Thankfully she didn’t talk to me the rest of the day.
As mentioned above, Dot wondered from her room to the bathroom sometime during the night. On the way back she fell. Don’t know how, and she doesn’t either. But she was lying there yelling for Judy. We did not hear her. But Laura, upstairs, did. She was walking around to see which cat was having a problem and though the sound was coming from the basement. She found Dot laid out in the floor. So instead of just going back up and leaving her (which I would have done – okay, not really) she knocked on our bedroom door to let us know. So the three of us was able to get her fat ass off the floor with no damage to her or the hardwood floor. Tragedy averted, we all went back to bed.
Then came evening after the chick death. Dr. Amber, her boyfriend, Bob, Steven and Laura from upstairs were here playing games. I had gone to Zaxby’s to get our own chicken so the dog wouldn’t feel so bad, and it was all set out on the counter. It was a pick and choose snack type thing we use when they are over to play games.
Dot was sitting in her chair watching everyone play - I don’t play because I don’t like to play their games...not smart enough. Finally she speaks up, “Jude, when will we have supper and what are we having?” I told her the food was on the counter and she could help herself. She didn’t like that, so I told her if she were at home she would have to fix her own supper and all she had to do was put chicken strips on a plate. She huffed and puffed about ‘I can do it if I have too.’
I told her, ‘Good! Judy is busy playing a game and you want her to stop the game to feed you? She is not your servant.”
Judy saw I was about to say some stuff that I didn’t need to say, and got up and made her a plate. When Dot got the plate, she gave me a look of triumph, so I told her, “Enjoy your chicken. It’s the one you killed.” The smirk left her face and Judy made me stop it.
I swear, selling human beings is illegal and immoral, but you can have her for, say, a beer.