I know we are supposed to like fall, the time of harvest, first frosts, shorter days, and piles of golden leaves. In another world in another time, if I were another person, maybe I would enjoy this season, but to me it's just a stupid cold prelude to the stupidest coldest season of all, which, of course, is winter, my eternal nemesis.
I'm blogging today from Scottsdale, wrapped up in fleece, sitting at a long imitation farm table in the wooden-floored kitchen (wooden floor real, not fake) looking out the open patio door at a blue pool. The pool has a fake rock fountain that comes on for a couple hours every morning around 8:30. It's a little too loud to be peaceful. It sounds more like a dam has burst upstream and the flood is coming.
The sky is blue, the sun is shining. You'd think I'd be happy. For a chronic malcontent, there's always something not quite right. Today, it's the wind. The forecast calls for a "breezy" day. The wind is whipping up the trees and bushes, howling above the sound of the overly loud fountain. Tiny yellow leaves are flying like dead gold flies onto the rippling surface of the pool. Underwater, a weird black robo vacuum cruises the pool bottom for what, algae? I don't know. It resembles a slow moving shark. This place is like the set of a horror film. It looks enticing on the surface, but when you look more closely, you see danger lurking behind every overly manicured honeysuckle or potted palm.
It's never a good sign when the sky is so blue and the wind is so relentless. It's a form of cognitive dissonance, that nature could be so beautiful yet so unsettling. I feel ancient terror in my bones. Right now, I want a cave. A nice dark quiet cave with a roaring bonfire at the entrance to ward off the evil spirits.
A pool guy comes to clean the pool. Yard guys come to mow the lawn and trim the hedges. House cleaners come to clean the house, which is probably why I can find no spray bottles of cleaning fluid anywhere. Apparently they BYOB. Bring your own bleach, something I failed to do. When I was packing to drive here, I thought, I won't need my bottle of Clorox, right? Surely someone who owns a house with a pool is well-stocked with bleach in a bottle.
Early this morning around 3:00 am, I woke to find Juno's enormous head snuffling on my leg. She rubbed her drooly jowels on my leg, my blanket, the couch. I shoved her away. I knew what she wanted. She was trying to see if I would cave and feed her early. She's cunning in the way dogs who are food motivated learn to induce sleep deprivation in humans. But for me, the long-suffering, easily manipulated human caregiver, I can't be sure that she isn't feeling a need to go outside to pee. Even though she went three hours before, I know how unpredictable my bladder can be, and neither Juno nor I are young pups. So I get up, put on my slippers and bathroom, grab the USB-rechargeable light wand that I carry to illuminate six feet of the yawning dark expanse of backyard lawn, and I go stand by the patio door, waiting for her to follow.
Juno flops back on her plush round bed, smirking. I flop back on the couch, resigned to being gaslit by a dog. This is my final dogsitting gig. I never imagined it would be so debilitating to live the life of a dog. It's hard enough living my own life.
Ah, finally, the fountain has subsided for the day. Now all I hear is that relentless desert wind. It's nice to sit in a proper chair to type. However, the chair is too low for the table. Even sitting on two pillows is not enough to keep my shoulder muscles from screaming. My leg feels better, though. Pain is like body hair in the way it travels around, from back to butt to leg to rib. Pretty soon Juno and I will go outside and sit in the sun to warm up. I'll sit on a fancy patio chair, and Juno will lay across one of her many big fleece dog beds. We'll listen to the wind in the trees, soak up some sun, and catch up on our sleep.
I am thankful this house and yard are not my responsibility. As long as the dog is alive and well when I leave tonight, my job is done. I will clean the bathroom and kitchen sink and take out the trash I have generated over the past four days. I will pick up the most recent pile of dog poop. I will replace the cushions on the couch that has ruined my back. As soon as I know the pet parent's plane has safely landed at Sky Harbor, I will put the key under the mat and head off into the night.
