"Remoted” – Workday 146 / Day 213 (Thursday)

How many repetitions make a pattern or a routine? It’s been three consecutive nights of Winston and the previously unusual 2:00 – 2:30 a.m. potty trip. Because I have been scrutinizing his every move like never before, he seems to be drinking a lot of water. Maybe he always did, and it just wasn’t noticed.

In another, more deliberate pattern-developing tale, the same pants have been worn for the past three days. One week ago, they were worn for several days, and two weeks ago, they were worn for five straight days. They are black Tommy Hilfiger cotton chino-type pants with welt pockets in the front and flap pockets in the back. They lived in a drawer largely ignored for a couple years. They were too tight for some of that time, are a smidge too short even for flat shoes, and are a bit too casual for the office-office. But dang, since rediscovering them a month or so ago, they are currently my favorite pants for this home-office life with minimal human contact. It’s certainly easy enough to roll out of bed and into the pair of pants left on a chair the night before because they are too clean for the laundry and too dirty to go back in the drawer. Being black, they coordinate with the entire rest of the wardrobe.

Meatball Time provisions.

A trip out to the civilized world was required this evening. This was done while wearing the slightly too short pants and socks with holes in them, which describes nearly every pair of socks currently owned thanks to the crappy quality of socks nowadays. The mission was to procure canned dog food for tomorrow morning’s “meatball time,” having used the last of the canned food today. 

This popular daily routine, beloved by the fur babies, was developed several years ago when Winston was on a medication. Whether the pill was wrapped in cheese, encased in a glob of peanut butter, or mixed in the bowl with his dry food, in all instances, Winston managed to eat the food from around the pill and spit the wet pill onto the floor.

Burying the pill in a meatball of wet, canned dog food was the only way to get Winston to take his pill, and it became the official medicine delivery method for both dogs. Winston hasn’t needed medication for a long time, but Moose still takes a daily capsule for his Cushing’s Disease, and “Meatball Time” lives on as the 7:00 a.m. featured activity. If the designated time has passed and no meatballs have yet been delivered, Moose delivers “the stare.” Like many other delightful domestic moments, Meatball Time has a song, for which the words are daily forgotten and ad-libbed anew. The common thread is that “puppies love meatballs,” and “meatball time is the best time of the day.”

With meatball time covered for a couple weeks, there was additional browsing in the store which resulted in a three-pack of tissues and the only box of Milk Duds on the shelf. It’s the “movie box” size that holds an alleged (and comical) 4.5 servings and about 4 billion calories. 

Single serving or 4.5 servings?

There is an unfortunate ritual with Milk Duds, which is to open the box and eat the contents in one sitting. All of the contents. Because sometime the switch flips and one box, one bag, no matter how large, is one serving. Even when a stomach ache is already in the making. By the time the box was empty, which was very little time at all, there was a case of stomach upset underway and my teeth felt as though they were wearing sweaters. The dogs, confused when the 10:00 brushing of teeth happened at 8:00, went and sat near the treats, where they remained for an hour, quietly waiting for the pre-bed treat. Meanwhile, I sat in the living room, enjoying the quiet and all the uncrowded couch space. 

Hopefully, the fun routines like meatball time will continue, the overindulgent overeating of Milk Duds will be controlled, and the less fun, newly-emerging pattern of 2:00 a.m. awakenings for potty breaks is just an anomaly. Fingers crossed.