The good news is Granny Selma didn’t call me Ted yesterday when I went with the old woman Slow to visit her in Houston. I see that as a step in the right direction. The bad news is GS is still in lockdown in the Big House and visiting her always makes me nervous. I mean, it’s a nice place and the people are smiley-smiley to me and all very friendly, but it’s like I have this huge responsibility to make everybody happy when I’m there. Of course The Red Man rises to any occasion like the champ that he is and manages to bring a smile to Granny Selma’s face as soon as she sees me.
Hmmm…or was she just happy to be sitting next to her friend Jim?? Oh, well. Whatever floats her boat.
So we’re signing in at the Guest Register in the lobby of the Big House and this young male Peep who is visiting somebody other than Granny Selma says to Slow:
“Hey, what kind of dog is that?” to which the old woman goes into her usual gobbledygook bullshit about how she thinks I’m a Welsh terrier but she doesn’t know for sure since I’m a RESCUED dog from a shelter, blah blah blah. Honestly, enough already. Who cares?
“I have a friend who breeds dogs that look just like this,” the young Peep continued. “They’re great little dogs, aren’t they? It’s almost like they’re human and can talk. Pretty incredible.” I swear I could’ve peed on him right there. That’s a Peep for you. Always thinking they’re the only ones who can talk. Nobody rescued HIM, let me tell you.
On a scale of 1 to 10, I’d rate our visit a 7. Too hot to take Granny Selma to the courtyard which I prefer so we stayed in her room and then walked her to her “exercise” class in the little sitting area with the big TV.
One inmate was watching Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacLaine in Irma la Douce but didn’t seem to mind when the scene changed to chair exercises. So much for Turner Classic Movies.
Although our visit was brief, it was just long enough to totally wig me out. And riding with Slow on the Sam Houston Tollway wasn’t a piece of cake, either. All those cars zipping past our Dodge Dakota at warp speeds. Geez Louise. Evidently Texas doesn’t have any speed limits on a tollway. I guess they figure if you’re paying to ride on a road, you ought to be able to go as fast as you want. That’s Texas for you.
Get me outta here, Percy – I may stay home with Smokey Lonesome Ollie the next time the old woman visits her mother. As if.
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