Crazy Old Lady

My sweet old mama never let anyone see that she had gray hair. For as long as I can remember, she would buy a box of Lady Clairol at Walmart and "color" her hair. Then she would go to the "beauty shop" to get her hair "done." And for times that she couldn't make it to the beauty shop, she would "twig up" her hair herself. I can't help but smile when I think about Mom and her hair ... she definitely had a thing about her hair. I, on the other hand, at least when it comes to the color of my hair, could care less that my hair is gray ... well, uh, actually it's more white than gray now, and I honestly don't care. Sometimes, however, people think I'm much older than I am due in part to the color of my hair.

I haven't felt well for the last couple of days, mainly because of the new medication for my aching shoulder. Last night after dinner, I decided to take Oliver for a slow meandering walk thinking perhaps it would help to soothe my upset stomach if I was outside walking. I know ... crazy thinking, but that's what I was thinking nonetheless. It was a beautiful evening, cool enough for jeans and a sweatshirt for me and a doggie sweater for Ollie ... one of the sweaters J.R. used to wear when he and I walked together in the cool night air. I was deep in thought as we sauntered along, and Ollie was more than happy that I was content to let him stop and smell as often as he wanted. There were a lot of people on the trail, perhaps because it was such a beautiful night.

We were on our way home ... for those of you who know the path where I walk ... we had just crossed the first bridge before the school and were about to head up the hill. That's when Oliver spotted a squirrel at the foot of a tree to the left of the trail and instantly bolted toward it. I walk him on a retractable leash that extends 20 feet, and last night's mood dictated that I just let him run as far as the leash would go. He was so close to the squirrel when he reached the end of the leash ... just a few feet from the creature he wanted so badly. As the leash abruptly stopped him, he turned and looked at me and whimpered. I don't exactly know what came over me, but I shouted, "Come on, Oliver, let's get him!" and took off running toward Ollie and the tree.

Needless to say, Ollie needed no encouragement from me to try to reach the object of his desire, and also needless to say, the squirrel scampered up the tree long before Ollie and I got near him. As Ollie placed his little front paws on the trunk of the tree, I started talking for Ollie and said, "Oh, if I was just a little taller, I could get that squirrel, Mom ... if I was just a little taller, I could get him." We circled the tree four or five times, and then again, something came over me and I started running through the field with Ollie, shouting at him to come on and run with me. We ran back and forth, up and down the hill, his tail wagging as hard as it could wag ... pure doggie happiness filling his little doggie body and legs as we ran. Because I was so focused on Oliver and how much fun he was having, I had failed to notice that we had an audience ... several people had stopped along the trail and were watching us as we played together in the field. It wasn't until I flopped down in the grass with Ollie and he jumped on my chest and began to lick my face that a couple of folks from the group of spectators made their presence known to me.

A young couple walked over to us, and the young man leaned over and said, "Maam, maam ... are you OK?" Looking up, I said, "What?" And the young woman said as she pointed toward the trail, "We were afraid that you fainted or were hurt or something when you fell down in the grass. Are you OK?" Sitting up and turning my head toward the trail, I saw a good-size group of people pensively watching Oliver and me. I waved and stood up and assured the young couple that I was fine and began to walk toward the trail, feeling pretty sheepish that I had managed to make a fool of myself in front of a bunch of strangers. As we passed the folks who had been watching us, I said, "We're fine ... really ... when you get to be old like me, you can run in a field and talk to your dog ... that's what crazy old women do."

And the lesson I learned? My "here's the thing" for this story? Sometimes when life is hard, when you don't feel well, when it's cold outside ... sometimes you just need to run in a field and talk to your dog. That's what crazy old women do.