Crazy coffee machine routine
Smoothie is getting gray.
This is most noticeable on our twice-daily walks up here on the hilltop I’ve named Mt. Crumpit because it’s always gusty. As we walk to the dog park, the wind sweeps through Smoothie’s long, soft coat, revealing all the silver and gray.
Otherwise, I don’t notice his aging so much. As with all shelties, his top coat is chocolate brown with some patches of white, as it’s been since he first came to us 12 years ago. Smaller dogs have a longer lifespan, but Smoothie is approaching the 13-14 year threshold, so I worry.
He sleeps a lot these days, moving among a half-dozen spots in a pattern that is always the same. Mornings, he’s at the sliding glass doors so he can watch the birds. Afternoons, he’s in my bedroom, napping in the warm spot near the heater vent. When I practice guitar in the living room, he lies on the rug facing me.
Maybe he doesn’t mind how bad that sounds because he’s hard of hearing. It takes a couple of loud yells to rouse him. And although he still wakes me each morning to get him breakfast, he doesn’t eat as much as he used to. Collectively, these things make me a bit sad because I may be seeing the final years of this pal of mine.
And then I make coffee, and I stop worrying so much.
My coffee routine brings a constant and predictable bit of insanity. It’s weird but reassuring.
Smoothie doesn’t think I should make coffee. Every morning, when I approach the counter and reach for the carafe, Smoothie awakes from his old-man nap and erupts. As I walk to the sink for water, he becomes the Tasmanian devil, barking and growing and spinning.
This continues as I pour the water into the machine, add the coffee to the basket, turn it on and walk away. He’s been having the same freakout for as long as I’ve known him, and I still haven’t figured out why.
That eruption takes some energy. You’d think that at his age, Smoothie might just let one morning pass and continue his nap. But no, I can read his mind. She’s about to do that thing with that machine, and she must be stopped!
One day last month, Smoothie’s coffee freakout turned aggressive. As I was adding coffee to the filter, he jumped up and bit me, sinking one tooth into my upper thigh.
“Smoothie!” I yelled at him. “You bit me!”
He’d drawn blood right through my thick yoga pants. I washed the wound and started taking some of the extra antibiotics I was prescribed after having been bitten by a neighbor dog that was off-leash in my yard last July. I also got a tetanus shot after that, so I was covered this time, but geez, two dog bites in a year.
Smoothie was contrite and spent the rest of the day hiding under the coffee table. He knew that bite was a bad-dog move and a massive overreaction.
He’s a grumpy old man, so I couldn’t stay mad at him. The next morning, as I made coffee, he erupted the same as always, as if he’d learned exactly nothing. I didn’t turn my back to him.
But annoying as they are, his coffee freakouts are reassuring. As long as he gets up to herd me or scold me or whatever that behavior is about, I know that Smoothie still has some pep left in him. He’s still going strong.
But some day, I’ll make coffee in silence. When that happens, I will worry.