Truth or Coincidence? For the Love of Scrambled Eggs

Once upon a time, I started feeding Charlie scrambled eggs.

Just a few crumbles, in the morning, on top of his regular food.
He used to be patient.
I would eat my eggs, first, allowing time for his eggs to cool.
And, he would sit quietly.

As time went on, however, he grew less patient,
staring at me, at first, with with his wide, chestnut brown eyes,
as if willing me to pour the eggs from the pan;
eventually, adding a whimper, or a small grunt,
progressing into an impatient bark, or two.

Sometimes, I forget about the eggs, cooling in the pan.

Charlie will intentionally position himself directly in front of me, and with several loud,
demanding barks, let me know that he is no longer messing around.

This morning, I forgot.

I was engaged in a television program, when suddenly, the show paused.
I looked over to my left, where, two cushions over, sat the remote.
And, next to the remote, sat Charlie, staring at me with those pleading eyes.

Coincidence? Probably.
But, somehow, Charlie had pressed the pause button with his paw,
which reminded me about his eggs, cooling in the pan.

Only Charlie knows the truth, and he knows he loves his eggs.

My New Normal

We were out of eggs.

Jack, 21, and Logan, 8, rode their bikes down the lane to pick up some farm fresh eggs and peppers,
and surprised me with some hand-picked flowers, beautifully arranged in a mason jar. Scrambled eggs, with basil (from a local, hydroponic farm), oven roasted peppers, and cinnamon french toast, like the kind I made when the older kids were younger.

Sunday morning breakfast.

The sun was trying hard to break through the cloud covered sky, and the temperature was just pleasant enough to open up a few windows,allowing the fresh, country air indoors. After breakfast, the hypnotic breeze drew me outdoors, onto the front porch, where I sat, and watched, and listened.
Tall grasses, blowing, large birds (maybe hawks, or the less popular vultures), soaring; tree shadows, reaching across the land. Butterflies. Monarch butterflies! Dancing, all around.

This is where I live, now, and I can't believe it's not temporary.
And, I wonder if it will ever get old.

New Neighbors: Ignorance is Bliss

There are cows in my backyard.

I can see them from every window, across the back of my house.
Technically, they are not in MY yard, but in the pasture, behind.
And, they are not MY cows, but belong to the farm, just beyond.

Still, every day, I see them.

There is comfort in knowing that they are there.

Tan, and brown - some, with patches of white, they saunter along the field.
Their tails, like tassels, on an old-fashioned shade, swish back and forth;
their ears, twitching, reacting, to the subtle sounds around.

Sometimes, they lie down in the field, resting from hours of grazing,
   almost disappearing into the landscape.
So "chill", these cows.
Whatever their fate, they look healthy, relaxed . . . content.

Charlie cannot see them.
He is too small, and the windows, too high.
Only from atop the brown chair, in the living room.

He has, yet, to meet them up close,
   and though I would imagine it is only a matter of time before he does,
it is best that he does not.
If he is as relentless with the cows, as he was with the squirrels, back home,
he will yap at those poor cows for HOURS.

It is a temporary peace.