This morning, my mother asked me, "So, when do you leave to pick up Wicker?" My mother has trouble with names. To date, she has called Watson: Wicker, Wicket, Winston, and Datsun. It took mom nearly a year to remember Fig's name; she called him "Sig."She may not remember names, but she remembered what it's like to have a new puppy. I'd forgotten that she remembered.
My doorbell rang late this afternoon. My mother's gardner/handyman stood at my door. He had been sent by my mother to "inspect" my backyard. Mom was worried that it might not be puppy-proof, and she sent help. Together, Jose and I found a small hole in the fence line (thank you, Fig) that a puppy could wedge his head, and under the deck, we found most of Fig's discarded, disgusting, de-stuffed puppy toys.
I now have the most puppy-friendly backyard in Napa.
Thank you, mom.