The Rituals of Home

“Scratch-scratch”, gently, lady like.

Silence.

“Scratch-scratch-scratch”, louder.

I still ignore the obvious let-me-in noise and continue reading.

“Scra-a-atch - scratch - scratch - bark bark”, demanding and impatient!

I get up and walk to the door, open it.  Boldly, but quite naturally she ducks around my legs, stands in the middle of the kitchen floor, cocks her head slightly, looks back at me as if to say:

“Where is it?  It’s dinner time you know!”

The other three animals now join in the fray and between the meows, grunts, pawing and suggestive licking and smacking of lips; I really cannot ignore them any longer. I line up the dishes on the counter while they all sit there attentively, eyes following my movements from fridge to counter, heads nodding in time with the twists of the can opener.

The two cats get fed first, anxiously following me to their feeding mat and getting down to the business of eating without so much as a preliminary sniff or two.

The two dogs are next. Dark bowl and black dog to the right, white bowl and yellow dog to the left, a practice that has been repeated over and over almost every day of their ten or more years that they have been with us.

They all finish about the same time and again in a time-practiced ritual head for the door.  I wait until they’re all there, open the door and let them out as a troop.  The cats go first. There is a slight pause as they furtively check out the terrain before they scoot out the door onto the deck railing.  The dogs nonchalantly follow, sauntering out to begin the sniff parade. Sniff the truck tires, sniff the bush, the old tree stump, and the stunted willow until they are satisfied that no one has interfered with their patch of the world while they were occupied inside.

I sit on the railing outside in the final rays of daylight. There is a distant honking of traveling trumpeters coming from the bay. A slight southerly surf is running into the beach and stars are popping out here and there as the light wanes and night takes over.

All is well at Lake Laberge